Chapter 2

Back at my apartment, I kicked off my wet shoes by the door and sat on the floor, lights off.

In the darkness, all I could think about was that winter six years ago.

That year, I was a junior in college, doing my internship.

My dad used to work for Ryan's grandpa Mr. Lewis, so our families went way back. When the Lewis Family hit rock bottom, my mom told me to go lend a hand.

That year, the Lewis Family crashed hard. Overnight, Ryan's dad went from someone everyone admired to someone nobody wanted to be seen with. The company was a mess, money, reputation, people, everything just vanished.

Mr. Lewis had a stroke and was left bedridden, and the rest of the family scattered like they were fleeing a disaster.

Everyone was badmouthing Ryan.

He was the one who signed the papers, the one who took over, and in the end, he was left to shoulder all the blame, the debts, and every insult people could throw at him.

He was only twenty-three, just a few years older than me.

The day I went to deliver some documents, no one answered the door.

I got a bad feeling, so I hopped the fence and let myself in.

When I found him in the bathroom, he was sitting on the cold tile floor. He'd cut his wrist, and the blood had turned the water a faint pink.

He looked up at me, his eyes empty, like he wasn't even there anymore.

I didn't scream, didn't cry, and I wasn't even scared.

I rushed over, grabbed his hand, and wrapped a towel around it as tight as I could. I kept talking to him, but honestly, I have no idea what I said.

Those ten minutes waiting for the ambulance felt like a lifetime.

He survived.

The doctor said if we'd been even a little later, he wouldn't have made it.

The day he was discharged, he sat at the edge of the hospital bed, his voice steady as he said, "You shouldn't have stopped me."

I replied, "Then do one thing for me."

"Every night, I'll text you. If you're still here, just send me a word back, 'Mm' or 'Oh,' anything.

"As long as you reply, I'll know you're okay. But if you ever don't, I'll call the police and come find you. I might not be able to stop you a second time, but I'll be there as soon as I can."

He looked at me for a long while before finally saying, "Mm."

That was the very first "Mm."

What happened next was both natural and kind of weird.

He didn't die, so he had no choice but to keep going.

And if he was going to live, he had to fight his way back up.

It took him six years, but he pulled the Lewis Family out of the gutter, from everyone wanting to kick them when they were down, to everyone trying to cozy up to them.

And me? I just kept texting him every single day.

Little by little, my messages slipped into his life, and eventually, into his bed.

We slept together, just like any couple, but he never said "I like you" or "Don't go."

He kept all his softness hidden away, showing everyone else nothing but a cold face.

To everyone else, I was just the girl who stuck to Ryan like glue, texting him every day, never getting a real reply, but still acting like it was the best thing ever.

They said I was throwing myself at him.

For six years.

Ryan never denied it.

He just let them believe whatever they wanted.

Because the story of "Vivian is chasing after me" sounded way better than the one where "Vivian dragged me out of the bathroom, saving my life."

In the first story, he was the guy everyone wanted, untouchable, sitting on a pedestal. In the second, he was the one bleeding out on the floor, so lost he needed someone else just to keep him breathing.

He cared about his face.

He'd rather I look pathetic than risk losing his own face.

It took me six years to finally see it for what it was.

I opened up my phone backup, and every message was there, nothing left out.

Six years, over a thousand nights. Every night, right around ten fifty, I'd send the same message, and he'd hit me back with just a single word.

Lined up perfectly, like the steady line on a heart monitor.

I always thought I was the one keeping him going.

Turned out, by the end, I was the one tied down.

I turned off my phone.

That night, I finally slept soundly.

For the first time, I didn't wake up in the middle of the night to see if he'd messaged me.

Early the next morning, someone was pounding on my door.

I slipped on my slippers and went to open it.

Ryan was standing there, looking like he hadn't slept a wink, dark circles under his eyes, his shirt collar all rumpled.

He'd never come to my place before.

For six years, it was always me who went to him.

"Last night's message." Ryan stared at me, his throat tight as he swallowed hard. "Why didn't you send it?"