Because as long as he looked at me like I was nothing but trouble, as long as he clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes and let that sharp edge creep into his voice, then I knew that I hadn’t lost him. Not yet. Because Blake had always been slipping through my fingers. Not in the obvious ways—not in a dramatic, walking-out-the-door, never-coming-back kind of way. No, Blake’s disappearances were quieter, more insidious. He pulled back in increments, like he was training me to not notice. One day, he’d stop knocking on my wall before bed. The next, he wouldn’t sit next to me at lunch. Then he’d stop looking at me when he spoke. Then he’d stop speaking to me at all. And before I knew it, I’d be standing in front of him, begging him to just say something, and he’d be looking at me like I was nothing more than a memory.

Like he’d already made peace with letting me go.

So I never let it get to that point.

I made sure I was impossible to ignore.

I poked, prodded, teased, tested—all to see if I could still make him snap. I stole his hoodies, left my perfume on his pillows, tangled myself into every part of his life until I was woven so tightly into the fabric of his existence that he couldn’t cut me out without unraveling himself, too.

I was relentless. I had to be.

Because when Blake got angry, when he stared at me like I was the most frustrating person on the planet, it meant he was still mine. And I needed that reassurance like I needed air.

If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t grip the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white, right? If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have looked at Drew like he was ready to end his life, right?

My behavior was fear—the thing that crawled into my chest late at night when everything was quiet and there was nothing left to distract me. What if one day, he really did stop reacting?

What if he woke up one morning and decided that I wasn’t worth the effort anymore?

But what scared me most was that I wasn’t sure anymore if I was still pushing him because I wanted him to stay…or because I wanted him to break.

Because what if I wanted to know what would happen if Blake stopped holding back?

What if I wanted to see what he looked like when he finally lost control?

What if I wanted to see what would happen if he let himself want me out loud?

What if I wanted to feel his hands on me the way I wasn’t supposed to?

And what if I didn’t want to stop him?

What if I kissed him?

Would he let me?

Or would he run?