The sun hadn't fully risen when Allie stirred awake. The world outside was quiet — the kind of early morning silence that felt sacred, suspended between night and day.
She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the note she'd already written. Her penmanship was neat despite the tremor in her hand:
Staying with Clarisse for a while. Don't worry. I'll call often. If I miss your calls, reach her. Love you.
She folded the note and placed it on the kitchen table beside a cup of tea that had gone cold. Then, without another word, she got ready.
Her reflection in the mirror looked composed — a black boho mini dress patterned with silver fish, thigh-high socks, Mary Jane flats, and a beige trench coat pulled close around her shoulders. But her eyes betrayed her — swollen and distant.
"You can do this," she whispered to herself, clutching the edge of the dresser.
"For Mom."
She took one last breath and walked out the door.
Curtis hadn't slept.
He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, the same memory looping again and again — her tear-streaked face beneath the club lights, the sound of her footsteps fading away.
He'd lost control — something he prided himself on never doing. But with her, control felt impossible. She had thrown his life into chaos and color, and now, the absence of her was unbearable.
He rubbed his temples, trying to make sense of it. What is this? Why does it hurt this much?
When his phone buzzed, his heart nearly stopped.
Allie: Coming over. We need to settle this.
For a few seconds, he just stared at the screen. Then he bolted upright.
In a blur, he showered, changed, straightened the cushions, folded the throw blanket, wiped the counter — all without thinking. His apartment had never looked this spotless.
His heart raced. He checked the time. Checked it again. Then, finally, the doorbell rang.
He froze.
When he opened the door, there she was — standing in the soft gray light, hair tousled by the wind, eyes steady but guarded.
"Allie…" he breathed, relief flooding his chest.
She didn't respond. She slipped off her shoes and walked past him into the hall, stopping halfway between the entryway and the living room.
Curtis closed the door slowly, the click echoing through the quiet space.
He swallowed. "Allie, I'm really sorry about last night. It will never happen again. I should've said—"
She turned sharply, her voice trembling as she cut him off.
"You said I could name my price."
The words hung heavy in the air.
Curtis blinked, confused. "What?"
"You said you could afford me — that I could name my price." Her voice cracked. "So here's your price, Harper. Pay it, and you can have whatever you want."
The number she said made his stomach drop.
"Allie…" His voice softened, pleading. "I didn't mean that. I was drunk, I was angry, I—"
She stepped closer, her expression breaking. "Please don't make me feel more worthless than I already do."
Something inside him shattered.
Without hesitation, he pulled out his phone, opened his banking app, and wired the exact amount she'd said. The notification chimed between them — harsh, final.
He turned the screen toward her. "It's done. You don't have to do anything. I'm sorry for what I said. I respect you — more than anyone."
She looked at him for a long moment, tears glistening in her eyes — and then she unbuttoned her trench coat and let it fall.
Curtis froze.
She stood before him, trembling but resolute, like she'd made peace with a decision she despised. Her vulnerability was heartbreaking — fragile, brave, and utterly human.
"Allie," he whispered, his voice breaking. "You don't have to—"
"I want to," she said softly, though her voice trembled. "Please… just don't stop me."
Her hand rose to his face, fingertips brushing his jaw as her eyes searched his. Then she kissed him — a slow, trembling kiss that tasted like apology and surrender.
The world stopped spinning.
Curtis's arms came around her, instinctively, his hand at the back of her neck, pulling her closer. The kiss deepened — hesitant at first, then aching and full.
Every breath, every touch was unspoken forgiveness. They stumbled toward each other, not out of lust, but out of the desperate need to feel something real — to remind themselves they were still alive, still wanted, still capable of love despite all the damage.
Time blurred. The air between them grew heavier, warmer, filled with the rhythm of their hearts and the rustle of movement.
He caressed her like she was the most fragile thing in the world. Even in her most vulnerable state he brought her heaven. He made her feel how much he was yearning for her. They filled each corner of his home with intimacy real, passionate, and pure.
The apartment that had always been sterile and quiet now pulsed with life — soft gasps, whispered names, gentle laughter between tears.
They found comfort in each other, their connection raw and unguarded. It wasn't perfect — it wasn't meant to be — but it was honest. Every touch said what words couldn't: I'm sorry. I need you. Don't go.
When the world finally stilled, morning light spilled through the curtains. Allie woke first, her cheek resting against Curtis's shoulder. His breathing was deep and steady, his hand resting protectively against her waist.
For a long time, she just watched him sleep.
There was peace in his face — no walls, no logic, no restraint. Just a man who'd finally let go.
She wanted to stay there forever. But she couldn't.
Quietly, she slipped from his arms and padded to the bathroom. The floor was cold beneath her feet, and her reflection looked like someone she barely recognized — eyes red, hair tangled, but strangely calm.
She turned on the shower, letting the water run before stepping in. The heat soaked into her skin, washing away everything — the pain, the guilt, the confusion — or maybe just pretending to.
The door creaked.
She turned, startled, to see Curtis standing there, shirtless, hair tousled, a shy smile on his lips.
He stepped closer, silent but gentle, and joined her under the spray. They didn't speak. They didn't need to. They simply held each other, forehead to forehead, breathing the same air, hearts syncing in the quiet.
For a few moments, the world outside didn't exist. Afterward, they moved through the morning like they'd known each other for years — cooking eggs, slicing fruit, stealing bites, laughing softly. Curtis looked at her the way someone does when they realize how fragile happiness really is — with quiet awe, as if afraid to blink and lose it.
They talked about everything and nothing. Music. Coffee. Childhood memories. Her laugh. His awkward dancing. Every little thing felt monumental.
When she laughed, his heart softened. When he smiled, hers ached.
Hours slipped by unnoticed — until sunlight faded into a warm orange haze.
And that's when she knew.
As Curtis dozed lightly on the bed, a soft smile still on his lips, Allie sat beside him, memorizing every detail — the curve of his jaw, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the way his hair fell into his eyes.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, brushing a hand through his hair.
Because she loved him.And because she knew this had to end.
She gathered her things quietly, slipped into her coat, and paused by the door.
He stirred slightly but didn't wake.
Her eyes filled with tears as she looked at him one last time.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice breaking. "For being with me, even when I couldn't love myself."
Then she turned and left — the sound of the closing door echoing softly in the quiet apartment.