Chapter VI - Where are you?
warnings: manipulation/insecurity/longing/pain/obsession
***
The car was still running. Noah hadn’t turned it off after parking.
The engine hummed low beneath them, a constant vibration that filled the silence just enough to keep it from collapsing completely. Outside, the street stretched in muted tones—lamps just beginning to flicker on, windows lit one by one, lives continuing in quiet, ordinary patterns that felt… distant. Untouched. Like they belonged to a different version of the world. Iris hadn’t opened the door. Her hand rested on the handle, fingers curled loosely around it, but there was no movement. No decision. Just suspension. - You don’t have to go in like this, Nyx. - Noah’s voice was calm. Not soft or steady. Measured in a way that didn’t try to comfort, only to stay present. She didn’t look at him. - I do, Noah... I can’t keep leaving things unfinished. That’s how he… stays. - The last word didn’t land cleanly. It caught somewhere between realization and something she wasn’t ready to fully name. Noah leaned back slightly in his seat, watching her. Not intensely, not intrusively. Just enough to understand where she was without forcing her to meet him there. - He’s been deciding things for you for a long time. You don’t break that by asking permission to leave. - he said, and her fingers tightened slightly on the handle. - I’m not asking for permission. - No. - Noah replied. - But I can see that you’re still moving like you expect him to give it. - That made her breathe in sharply. Not offended, but exposed.
She finally turned her head, her eyes weren’t uncertain. They were so fucking tired. Deeply tired. - I don’t even know when it started, you know? - she admitted quietly. - When it stopped being... something normal. - She let out a small, hollow breath, still talking. - He always said he was protecting me. From people. From mistakes. From things I wouldn’t understand on my own... - A pause, but long enough to feel the weight of what came next. - And I believed him... - after that her voice dropped. - I thought that was what it was supposed to look like. - Noah didn’t interrupt her, or didn’t soften it. - I thought I was safe, Noah. - she continued, quieter now. - That someone finally… saw me. Knew what I needed before I did. - Her grip on the handle loosened, then tightened again. - And now I keep thinking... - She hesitated, because her throat tightened. - Maybe... Maybe I was just convenient. - these words felt wrong even as she said it. Too small, maybe too simple. Noah’s gaze didn’t shift. - That’s not what you were, Nyx. - She shook her head immediately. - You don’t know that. - I know what I see - And what if I was wrong? - she pressed, her voice rising just slightly... not loud, but strained. - What if I leave and realize he was right? That I don’t know how to function without someone telling me what to do? What if I’m exactly what he says I am? - Silence filled the car. Not empty, but dense. Noah leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms against the steering wheel, his gaze still on her, but now closer, more grounded. - Then you’ll learn. - there's no hesitation in his voice. No cushioning. - With me... But it’ll be you learning. Not him deciding who you are before you even try. - She looked down at her hands. They were trembling. She hadn’t noticed when it started. - I don’t want to be… that person anymore. - she whispered. - The one who needs to be explained. Managed. Fixed.... I don't like me, Noah. But at the same moment I don’t know what I am without that. - Noah exhaled slowly. - That’s the part you’re supposed to not know yet. That's normal, Nyx. At the very beginning, everyone is a bit lost. - She let out a quiet, almost disbelieving breath. - That sounds terrifying, you know...? - I know... It is terrifying. - Again, no hesitation in his voice. Then, after a beat, he added: - But it’s gonna be only yours. - That landed somewhere deeper than reassurance ever could. He shifted slightly, straightening. - I can come with you, Nyx. You don’t have to do this alone. - She froze at that, but not because she hadn’t expected it. But because part of her wanted to say yes.
It was too easily. Too quickly. - No, Noah. - The words came out softer than she intended. But it stayed. Noah didn’t argue immediately which made it harder. - Nyx... - I have to do it myself. - she said, turning to him fully now. There was something steadier in her eyes, not absence of fear, but something pushing through it. - If you come in there with me… it’ll become about you. - Her voice steadied further. - He’ll twist it. Make it about you. About us. About anything except what it actually is. - She swallowed hard. - And I need him to hear it from me. - Noah held her gaze long enough to make sure this wasn’t hesitation dressed up as resolve. - And if he doesn’t let you leave?
The question was quiet. But it carried weight.
Her fingers tightened again, not on the door this time, but on her. - I’ll... I'll leave anyway. - It didn't sound confident, and that hurt Noah the most. Noah watched her for another second. Then nodded once.
Not agreement, but acceptance. - I’ll be here. - he said. - However long it takes. And if you walk out that door and don’t have anywhere to go... - He didn’t finish the sentence immediately. Didn’t rush it. - You can stay with me. As long as you need. No conditions. No expectations. - she looked at him then. - That’s exactly why I can’t let you come in... she said quietly. And then, a faint, tired exhale. - Because you make it sound easy to fall into that. - Noah didn’t smile, but something in his expression softened. Not triumph, or relief. Just… understanding. - It’s not easy, Nyx. It’s just not supposed to hurt the way you’re used to. - That stayed with her. Longer than anything else. Finally, she turned back to the door, and this time, her hand didn’t hesitate. For a second—just one—she closed her eyes. As if bracing not for him. But for what he had made her believe about herself. Then she opened the door, cold air slipped inside the car. Sharp and immediate.
Real.
She stepped out didn’t looking back right away. But just before she closed the door... - Noah? - He looked at her. He looked at her as if she were a miracle and couldn't hide it. - I’m scared. - He felt as if someone had tightened an iron band around his heart. - I know. But... I'm here. For you, Nyx. - A small nod from her. Barely there. Then she closed the door.
Noah didn’t move, didn’t turn off the engine. Didn’t look away.
He watched her walk toward the building, toward the place that had once been defined as safety. Now— something else. She didn’t stop, didn’t slow. Didn’t turn around again.
But just before she disappeared inside, for a fraction of a second, her hand tightened at her side. As if holding onto something invisible. Something she refused to let go of this time. And Noah stayed exactly where he was. Because this part, this first step, had to belong entirely to her.
Even if everything after it… didn’t. *** She shouldn’t have come back alone. Iris knew it the moment the door clicked shut behind her. The apartment hadn’t changed, that was the first thing that felt wrong.
Everything was exactly where it should be—shoes by the entrance, the faint smell of his cologne still clinging to the air, the jacket he always left draped over the chair like he would be back in a minute.
Like nothing had happened.
Like she hadn’t already crossed a line she couldn’t uncross. She stood there for a moment too long, her hand still resting on the handle, as if the door might open again on its own and undo the decision.
It didn’t.
The silence pressed in instead. Heavy. Familiar. - Iris.
His voice came from deeper inside the apartment. Calm, not even surprised. That made her stomach tighten. Christian stepped into view slowly, like he had all the time in the world. No sudden movement, no visible anger. Just that same controlled presence that always made everything feel smaller around him. - I was wondering when you’d come back.
Not if.
When. - I just came for my things. - she said. Her voice sounded distant to her own ears. Too flat. Too rehearsed. She moved past him before he could close the distance, heading toward the bedroom. She didn’t want to stop. Didn’t want to give him space to build anything between them.
Because that was what he did. He didn’t block.
He built. - Iris. - Closer now, but she ignored it and go to the wardrobe. She pulled out a bag. Her hands moved quickly, mechanically; clothes, essentials, anything that felt like hers. Something she could take back. Something that hadn’t been shaped by him. - You’re not even going to look at me?
His tone shifted slightly. Not louder, but sharper. Like a thread being pulled tighter.
She exhaled, and turned. That was her first mistake.
He was closer than he should have been. Not touching her, not yet, but already inside her space. - I don’t want to do this again. - she said quietly. - I’m just taking what’s mine and I'm leaving. - Leaving where? - His question wasn’t curiosity. It was placement. Like he was deciding where to put that answer once she gave it. - That’s not your problem anymore. - For a second, just a second, something flickered across his face. Not anger, but something really colder. - You’re going to him. - Not a question this time. A conclusion. Carefully delivered one. Iris felt it immediately, that shift inside her chest. That familiar tightening, the need to explain, to correct, to prove something. She swallowed it down. - I’m leaving, Christian. That’s all that matters.
He laughed. Softly. And that was worse than shouting. - Do you even hear yourself, honey? - he said, stepping closer. - You walk out, disappear, and then come back here talking like you suddenly know what you’re doing? - She didn’t step back. - I know enough. - Do you? - he was closer and now she stepped back. One step.
He noticed. Of course he did. - You think this is about you finally "choosing yourself"? - His voice lowered, each word placed carefully. - You think this is strength? - - Another step to her. - It’s not strength, Iris. It’s confusion. - No. - The word came out faster than she expected, stronger too. For a moment, it surprised both of them. Christian tilted his head slightly, studying her like something unfamiliar. - He did this to you. - his voice was quiet and certain. Iris shook her head. - No, I... - You didn’t have these thoughts before him. You didn't think that way until that asshole targeted you. - he cut cleanly, leaving no room to finish. - That’s not true... - You didn’t question me before him, Iris. - Another step. She hit the edge of the bed. Nowhere left to go without breaking the line completely. - And now suddenly you walk in here. - he continued, voice almost gentle now. - Packing your things, and act like I’m the problem? - He smiled slightly. - You don’t even see it, do you? - Something wavered inside her. Just for a second.
And he saw it. - That’s what he does, honey. - Christian said softly. - He finds people like you. People who don’t know who they are yet. - His hand lifted, but not for grabbing, not forcing, but just resting lightly on her arm. Guiding, familiar. - He fills your head with ideas. Makes you feel special. Different. Like you’ve been missing something your whole life. - his thumb slowe brushed against her sleeve. - And you believe him. Because it’s easier than facing what you actually are without someone holding you together. - Iris’s breath caught.
There it was.
That old fracture. The one he always found. - You think he cares about you? - Christian’s voice dropped further. - He doesn’t. He wants you. That’s it. Nothing more, Honey. And once he gets what he wants… you’ll be right back here. Except this time, there won’t be anything left to come back to. - Silence fell. Heavy. Iris felt herself beginning to sink beneath the surface of his words again. She felt herself sinking into darkness and doubt. - You’re wrong. - The words came out, but weaker now. Christian’s expression softened instantly.
That shift—so fast it almost hurt to see. - Iris… - His hand slid more firmly around her arm now. Not enough to hurt, but enough to stay. - Look at you. - She didn’t want to. He tilted her chin slightly. - You’re shaking. - he murmured. She hadn’t noticed.
Now she did. - You think this is freedom? - he continued quietly. - You can’t even stand steady without someone telling you what to do next. - His gaze held hers. Unmoving. - That’s not independence. That’s dependency. You just changed who you depend on. - The words sank in.
Too easily.
Too deeply. - And I’m the only one who’s ever actually stayed, Iris. Who’s ever actually dealt with you when you fall apart. - and then, a pause. Long enough to settle. - You think he’ll do that?
Something inside her faltered. Not completely, but enough. And Christian felt it. Of course he did. His grip tightened slightly.
- You’re not going anywhere tonight. - decided for her, which at that moment sounded like concern. - I am. I'm leaving. - But it didn’t sound like before. He shook his head slowly, almost disappointed because of her words. - No. You’re overwhelmed. You’re confused. And you’re letting someone who barely knows you make decisions you’ll regret later. - His hand moved from her arm to her shoulder. Then—gently, firmly—he guided her to sit. - You’re staying here. Just for tonight. - I didn’t agree to... - You don’t have to agree, Iris. - he said soft, sound like a final.
The room felt smaller. The walls closer. Air heavier. - I’m protecting you. - Christian added quietly. - From him. From what he wants from you. - Iris looked at the door. It felt further away than it had when she entered.
Unreachable.
And somewhere, beneath the fear, beneath the doubt he had so carefully placed back inside her, something else stirred.
Faint, distant memory of a hand holding hers.
Not guiding, not controlling.
Just… there.
It flickered.
Too weak.
***
Nothing ended.
It only lost its shape.
Iris didn’t come back to work. Not the next day. Not the day after. Not the day after that.
At first, it passed like a small irregularity, like something people noticed, then smoothed over with routine. A chair left empty. A name skipped in conversation. A presence quietly removed from the pattern.
But absence, when it lingers, stops being neutral.
It begins to take form.
Christian understood that. He didn’t push the story forward. He adjusted it.
He spoke carefully, almost softly. Always as if he were choosing his words for her benefit, even when she wasn’t there to hear them.
- She needed space.
- She wasn’t feeling like herself.
- You know how she gets sometimes.
And after these words, he eventually added sometimes:
- Noah got into her head.
It wasn’t a accusation. No confrontation.
Just placement.
Like moving a piece slightly to the left so the entire board shifts without anyone noticing.
And Noah heard everything, byt he didn’t respond.
He just watched and listened.
The office changed in small, almost imperceptible ways. Voices lowered when he entered, conversations folded in on themselves, laughter stopped too quickly, as if it had crossed a line it didn’t see.
People didn’t avoid him.
They adjusted around him.
And Iris… became something that was talked about more than remembered.
Noah stopped trying to correct anyone. That would have been too direct.
Too visible.
Instead, he started writing again. His notebook returned like a reflex he hadn’t realized he still carried, but the entries were different now. Not full thoughts or conclusions.
It was just a fragments.
„Mention of her name delayed in conversation.”
„Shift in tone when referring to absence.”
„Eye contact broken before finishing sentences.”
And once;
„No one states when she stopped coming.”
He stared at that line longer than the others. Because he knew. He had to know.
But the memory didn’t settle cleanly.
It moved.
Like something had reached into it and adjusted the edges.
Christian stayed ahead, Not through speed, but through control. Every version of the story reached people already shaped, already softened. Already believable.
And Iris. She’s still remained unreachable.
Noah tried to call her once.
Only once.
The silence on the other end wasn’t empty. It carried something. A weight. A listening that didn’t respond.
He didn’t call again.
Instead, he started walking.
Not with purpose, but with repetition. The streets she used to cross, or places she used to pause without thinking, even the corners that held no memory, but something like the outline of one.
Nothing confirmed she had been there.
Nothing proved she hadn’t.
But Noah kept searching, as increasingly difficult scenarios arose in his mind. His silent, yet unnamed obsession slowly began to gnaw its way from deep within him. From a place he had tried to keep closed all these years.
The city began to feel like a map with removed pieces. Not erased, but lifted.
And at night... At night his sleep stopped coming. At first, it was restlessness, just body that refused to settle, mind that replayed details too precisely, too sharply. Then it became something else. Like... Something like silence that stretched too far. Thoughts that didn’t loop, but continued. He would lie still, eyes open in the dark, tracking the shape of the ceiling as if it might shift when he stopped looking.
Counting breaths that didn’t slow. Listening for something that never fully arrived. And every time he closed his eyes... Fuck. Every time he closed his eyes, it was torture because he saw her.
Not clearly, nor completely, but he saw her fragments.
The way her hand tightened slightly before letting go, that pause in her being before she spoke, even that moment she chose something and didn’t trust it yet. He tried to hold those images in place, but they didn’t stay there. They insolently slipped and changed into something else, rearranging into something less certain. Sleep became something dangerous... Because it meant losing the exact version of her he still remembered, so he stayed awake, his hours blurred, nights folded into mornings without transition.
The world outside continued on schedule, but his sense of time thinned.
He stopped checking it. At work he functioned like always, precisely, mechanically even. Every movement deliberate, every word measured.
Like every fucking time he locked himself in his own head because he couldn't cope with the world.
Funny, because no one truly asked him if he was tired. They just saw it.
But they chose not to name it. Maybe it was because they believed that Noah, who was an idealist, was unable to win the war of the girl and hence his condition?
And Christian... Christian moved through the space like nothing had shifted. Still controlled. Still careful.
Still placing things and words where they needed to be. Christian spoke. He said Noah tried to win Iris over, exploiting her insecurities and low self-esteem. Christian whispered that Noah wanted to get into her pants because he thought that since the band had become famous, he could have any girl he wanted. Even a taken girl. Christian sacrificed himself, lying, cheating, and acting better than many actors. And people believed. Or "just" started to doubt Noah.
Their eyes met sometimes.
Not for long, but just enough. Christian smiled once. It wasn’t triumph, but Noah knew that was recognition. Like he understood something Noah hadn’t said out loud yet.
That this wasn’t just about Iris anymore. That something had already begun to take hold. Noah returned to the stairwell once, that damn door was still there. But closed, unmarked. Ordinary. The same door through which they had left together, which was supposed to be the beginning of change… but instead became a prison for him.
He stood in front of it longer than he should have, his hand almost lifting... But only almost. He didn’t touch these, because something in him understood, without needing a proof, that whatever had changed that night, had not stayed behind it.
Back in his apartment, the nights stretched further. Noah stopped turning on lights, because darkness felt more honest. He'd sit by the window, not looking out, just letting the reflection settle over him watching himself exist in the glass.
Sometimes it's looks like it lagged. But only slightly, not enough to confirm, or not enough to dismiss. And he stopped reacting to that too.
Because reacting meant deciding.
And he wasn’t ready to decide what was real anymore.
The only thing that stayed consistent was the absence. Not empty, quiet, but present. Like something sitting just beyond reach, waiting for him to name it correctly. Waiting for him to understand what it had taken.
Or what it was still in the process of taking.
And in the space where sleep should have been, where rest should have come, where the mind should have softened, there was only one constant, unyielding thought: You didn’t lose her.
You just don’t know where she is anymore.
And that was worse.
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