Chapter 21: 💥 Accidental Revelation

The day has been long. Too long. And being at university didn’t help. I couldn’t focus on anything—neither the lectures nor the conversations. All I could see was her face. Emma. Emmy. It kept looping in my head, a mess of weekend memories and that damn conversation from the night before.

By the time I finally get home in the late afternoon, I’m already exhausted. But I know the worst is yet to come. Tonight, this farce has to end. I don’t have a choice anymore.

Dinner comes too fast. Sitting at the table, I try to keep a low profile, but I know my nervousness is showing. My parents are chatting about trivial things. Emma, sitting across from me, seems to be in a good mood. She smiles, laughs from time to time, as if everything is fine. And me? I’m just there, unable to even lift my eyes to her.

I push my vegetables around my plate with my fork, barely paying attention. But of course, my dad picks up on it right away.

Dad: “Brice, you okay? You seem a little out of it.” I look up, caught off guard, and try to force a smile that doesn’t quite land.

Me: “Yeah, yeah ... Just a long day at uni.” Emma glances at me too, narrowing her eyes slightly, like she’s trying to read my mind.

Emma: “You sure? You look totally drained.” Her tone is light, almost teasing, but I can hear the hint of concern underneath.

Me: “Yeah, really. Nothing serious.” My mom chimes in, her voice laced with that motherly concern.

Mom: “If you’re not feeling well, you should get some rest tonight. Maybe you just need sleep.” I nod, mumbling a half-hearted “Maybe.” But deep down, I know that sleep is the last thing I’ll be getting tonight.

Emma finally looks away and goes back to chatting with my parents. But I don’t hear a word of it. All I see is her—radiant, carefree. And it’s killing me. She has no idea what’s coming.

Every laugh, every smile she throws across the table makes the weight on my chest even heavier. I barely touch my food. My stomach is too tight for me to swallow anything.

When dinner finally comes to an end, I push back my chair and stand up quickly, using school as an excuse to escape.

Me: “I’m heading up ... Got something to prep for tomorrow.” Emma gives me a curious glance but doesn’t say anything. I take the stairs two at a time and shut my bedroom door behind me.

My heart is pounding. I sit on my bed, phone in hand. I know what I have to do. Tonight, this has to end.

Sitting on my bed, I stare at my phone, fingers trembling. The screen is open to my conversation with Emmy. Every message, every moment we shared is right there—a cruel reminder of how much this all meant.

But it’s over. It has to be.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady my shaking hands. I tap the keyboard to open the text field, but no words come. How the hell am I supposed to explain this? How do you break something that’s been your only escape for months?

The silence in the room is unbearable. I start typing, delete, then type again. Nothing sounds right. Stop overthinking, Brice. You know what you have to do.

But before I can make up my mind, a new message pops up. My breath catches.

Emmy (message): “Hmm, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you...” I freeze, unable to move. My thumb hovers over the screen, but I don’t know what to do. Every word in that message already weighs on me. I know whatever comes next will only make things worse.

A few seconds pass, and a second message appears.

Emmy (message): “We’ve been talking for a while now, and you know I really enjoy our conversations. Actually ... I really like you. Not just for chatting, but ... well, you’re the only one I’ve ever shown my face to. The only one who makes me feel ... safe.” My stomach tightens. Every word she types is a blade sinking deeper. A cold sweat runs down my neck. She’s opening up. Completely. She’s about to tell me she’s in love, and I can’t let that happen.

I stop thinking. I have to. If I hesitate, I’ll back down, and that’s not an option. My fingers move fast over the keyboard, and before I can second-guess it, I hit send.

Me (message): “We need to stop talking.” Silence. The screen stays frozen, as if refusing to process what I’ve just done. I take a deep breath, but it feels like the air won’t go in. I know I have to keep going. I can’t leave any room for doubt.

Me (message): “This can’t continue. Thank you for everything, but this is for the best.” My finger trembles slightly as I press send again. This time, it’s done. No turning back.

I go into the settings of my Emmy subscription. I take a deep breath, and without thinking any further, I tap “Unsubscribe.”

The screen flickers for a second, then returns to her profile. The conversation is frozen. No way to message her. No way for her to reply. It’s over.

I drop my phone onto the bed and stare at the wall in front of me. A small part of me feels a faint relief. Finally, I’m free from this lie. But the feeling doesn’t last.

It’s quickly replaced by emptiness. Crushing emptiness. A dull ache spreads through my chest, and my shoulders start shaking. My eyes burn, and before I even realize it, tears are streaming down my face.

I gasp for air, caught off guard by my own sobs. I barely ever cry, but this—this is unstoppable. The guilt, the pain, the love I feel for her—it all crashes down at once.

Fuck, Brice. You really are a piece of shit.

I sit on my bed, unable to move, my hands still shaking from what I just did. The sobs caught me off guard, like weeks of bottled-up pain finally bursting free. My breathing is ragged, my shoulders trembling with every inhale.

And then, the door suddenly swings open. I jump, snapping my head up—and there she is.

Emma stands in the doorway, her cheeks flushed, her eyes swollen, her breath uneven. She’s crying. Completely falling apart.