I always thought I had it figured out. That I was in control, that everything in my life was exactly the way it was supposed to be. I wasn't arrogant—I just knew who I was. I had worked hard for everything I had, and I believed that if you were smart enough, if you worked hard enough, you could get what you wanted. But Elliot? He was different. He wasn't like the others. He made me question everything.
I didn't get it at first. I didn't understand why he could see right through me. Why he pushed my buttons the way he did. I hated it. It made me feel vulnerable, and I couldn't stand that. I told myself that humans were weak—fragile things. And Elliot? He was no different. He'd eventually crumble, I thought.
But then, something shifted. Maybe it was the way he stood up to me, or the way he never backed down. I had never met anyone like him. The more he challenged me, the more I resented it. The more I pushed him away.
"I'm tired of this," he'd said, his voice sharp. "You always think you're right, Asher. You never listen to anyone else."
I wanted to argue, to prove that I was right, but something inside me snapped. The words came out colder than I intended. "If you can't handle it, then leave. I don't need you around."
Elliot's eyes softened, just for a moment. Then he shook his head. "I'm not leaving because of you. I'm leaving because I need space. I can't keep doing this."
The words hit harder than I expected. I didn't want him to leave. I didn't want to admit that I didn't want him gone, that the thought of him walking away made my chest feel tight. But instead of saying anything, I just stood there, my pride winning out. "Then go," I said, though it came out sounding hollow even to my own ears.
And he did.
I watched him walk away, disappearing into the crowd, his figure shrinking until it was just another blur of movement. I couldn't help but feel that something wasn't right. That maybe this wasn't how things were supposed to go. I felt an unfamiliar ache in my chest, but I pushed it down. I couldn't be bothered by it. I had things to do, I told myself. I couldn't afford to think about him too much.
But I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. That something was going to happen. I didn't know why, but I had this nagging sensation that wouldn't go away.
I tried to focus on the noise around me—the sound of traffic, the chatter of people walking by. It should've felt normal, but it didn't. It was as if the city had suddenly become foreign. The weight of the moment hung heavy on me, like the air was pressing in from all sides. I turned to leave, hoping the feeling would go away, but then I heard it.
A car. The engine revved loudly, too loudly, and I froze. It wasn't normal. The sound didn't belong.
I looked around, trying to pinpoint where the noise was coming from. The engine roared again, and that's when I saw him. Elliot.
He was standing in the middle of the crosswalk, his back to me, unaware of the speeding car heading straight for him. My stomach dropped.
No.
I couldn't move at first. My body just locked up. The car was getting closer, and I could see it now, swerving out of control. I opened my mouth to shout, to warn him, but the words never came.
And then it happened.
The screech of tires. The sickening sound of metal colliding with flesh. My heart stopped.
I ran. I don't even remember how I got there, just that my legs were moving, carrying me faster than I thought possible. I had to get to him. I had to do something.
The crowd was already gathered, but no one was doing anything. They were standing there, staring at him, frozen. I shoved people aside, desperate to get closer, to see if he was okay. But when I reached him, I knew. I knew it was too late.
Elliot was lying there, his body twisted unnaturally. Blood pooled around him, too much of it, too dark. I could see the glass from the broken windshield reflecting in the puddles. His eyes were wide open, but he wasn't looking at me. He wasn't looking at anything.
I dropped to my knees beside him, my hands trembling as I reached out to touch him. His arm was cold. Too cold.
"Elliot," I whispered, but the word felt wrong on my tongue. It felt empty. I wanted to scream, to shake him awake, but I knew it wouldn't matter. He wasn't waking up.
I felt a crushing weight in my chest. The guilt was unbearable. I had pushed him away. I had made him leave, and now he was gone. I'd been so damn sure of myself, so sure that I didn't need anyone. And now, I'd lost him.
I couldn't move. I just stayed there, staring at him, my mind racing. This couldn't be happening. I couldn't have caused this. It was my fault. I had been so sure that I was right. So damn sure of everything. But I had been wrong.
This is my fault.
The thought repeated itself over and over, each time hitting harder. I wanted to scream, but the sound caught in my throat. I wanted to make it stop, to turn back time, to say something, anything to make him stay. But it was too late.
It was all too late.
I stayed there, helpless, as the world spun around me. People were shouting, crying, but I couldn't hear any of it. All I could hear was the sound of my own heartbeat, pounding in my ears. I couldn't get rid of the image of Elliot's body, lying there in the street, cold and lifeless.
I had let my arrogance get in the way. I had pushed him away, and now I was paying the price. I didn't know how to live with that. I didn't know how to make it go away.
All I could do was sit there, frozen, as the weight of everything I had done crushed me.