It wasn't supposed to be like this.
They'd moved in together just two months ago — a tiny apartment above an old bookshop, all creaky floors and drafty windows. She had turned sixteen, and he was eighteen, and everything had felt like a dream. Like a beginning.
He thought sharing a home would make him feel safer.
Instead, he was losing his mind.
Alex had never been the jealous type, not really. But lately, it was like a monster had woken up in him — one that clawed at his insides every time Ava smiled at someone else, laughed at something that didn't come from him.
Especially other guys.
Especially today.
He hadn't meant to go to her school, but he got out early, and his feet just… took him there.
That's when he saw it. Ava, standing by the school gate, laughing at something some guy said — Kevin, probably. He hated Kevin. Too clean-cut. Too smiley. Too close.
Ava's head was tilted back, laughing in that unguarded, gorgeous way she only did when she was genuinely happy.
It shattered him.
Because it wasn't him making her smile like that.
He didn't even remember following her home. She had waved goodbye to the boy and taken the long way back, probably humming to herself, bag bouncing on her shoulder.
He trailed behind like a ghost.
She didn't notice his silence when she opened the door, didn't notice the way his jaw was clenched tight as he followed her into the apartment.
"Hey, you're home early," she chirped, tossing her bag onto the couch.
"Who was that?"
She blinked. "Who?"
"That guy. At school."
Her smile faltered. "Kevin? He's just in my chem class."
"Looked like more than that."
Ava furrowed her brow, confused. "We were laughing. That's it."
That laugh. He could still hear it. Replay it. Like a broken record that kept skipping, burning through his skull.
"I don't like the way he looks at you."
"Well, I can't control people's eyes, Alex," she said, softer this time, trying to ease the tension.
Something inside him snapped.
The slap came before he could stop it.
Sharp. Fast. Unforgivable.
Ava staggered back, one hand flying to her cheek, eyes wide in shock and silence. Not fear — not yet — just disbelief. Pure, shattering disbelief.
He didn't even know he was breathing until he saw her tears.
"Ava—" His voice cracked.
She didn't speak.
Didn't scream.
Just looked at him like she didn't know him anymore.
Like he wasn't her Alex.
"I didn't mean to," he whispered, taking a step toward her, horrified at himself. "I— I don't know what happened—"
She flinched when he reached out.
That hurt worse than anything.
She turned away, walking to the bathroom, shutting the door gently behind her like it was the end of something.
He stood there, in the silence of their shared home, trembling with shame and self-hatred.
What had he done?
What was he becoming?
He sank to the floor, back against the door she'd disappeared behind, holding his head in his hands.
This wasn't love.
This was a disease.
And it had his name written all over it.
---
The door didn't slam.
That made it worse.
If she'd screamed at him, cursed him, thrown something — it would've felt more human. But Ava, always soft, always composed, had just walked away. Quiet. Controlled.
Like she was disappearing without noise.
Alex stayed frozen outside the bathroom door, heart pounding like a war drum in his chest.
He could hear water running.
He knew she was crying, even if she wasn't making a sound.
The silence screamed at him.
He wanted to punch a wall. Bleed. Do anything to reverse what just happened — to claw the moment back and burn it.
But he couldn't.
He could never.
After what felt like hours, the door creaked open.
Ava stepped out, her cheek damp and red, towel pressed to her face. She wouldn't look at him.
"Ava—"
"Don't."
That one word. Soft, but cutting.
He tried again. "Please. I just—"
"You hit me, Alex."
His breath caught.
"You hit me."
She finally looked at him then — eyes wet, voice shaking, but her posture straight. Like she was holding herself together with sheer will.
"I know," he choked out. "I don't even know who I am anymore— I got scared. I got jealous. I thought—"
"That I'd stop loving you?" she asked, almost gently. "Because I laughed at a joke?"
The words sliced through him.
She walked past him into their tiny bedroom. He followed at a distance, like a criminal trailing his verdict.
She didn't pack a bag. Didn't scream.
Just sat on the edge of the bed, fingers tangled in her lap.
"I left everything for you," she said quietly. "Do you know that? My mum. My old friends. My future. I chose you."
He sank to the floor across from her, knees drawn up, hands shaking. "I know."
"I don't know who this version of you is, Alex."
Neither did he.
"I want to fix it," he said hoarsely. "I swear I'll fix it."
She looked at him then — not with hatred. That would've been easier.
She looked at him with pain. With love still lingering in the cracks. But fear, too.
And something deeper.
Doubt.
"I still love you," she whispered, voice breaking. "But if you ever touch me like that again… I'll leave."
His chest caved.
"You should," he said.
But he prayed she never would.
That night, they didn't speak again.
She slept curled away from him, hoodie covering the bruise, back facing the wall. He didn't sleep at all. Just stared at the ceiling, listening to her breathing, wondering how something so beautiful could turn into something so terrifying.
And how long before it all broke completely.