Drenched and trembling, you sprinted through the heavy downpour, your heart pounding like a storm in your chest. Your half-finished research paper sat neglected on your desk, along with mountains of deadlines, and ignored group chats. But none of them mattered now. All that mattered was getting to him in time. So, you rushed into the storm desperate to save someone you couldn’t fix.
You made it clear- you were busy. You told him you needed to catch up on overdue tasks. Yet, the buzzing of your phone refused to stop. With every notification, your chest tightened, each message a threat to end your relationship if you didn’t reply. Frustrated, you muttered under your breath, “I’ll deal with this later,” hoping he would stop.
He didn’t.
Instead, your plans flew out the window when you read his last message: a photo of his wrist- blood smeared across it, accompanied with the chilling words: “I’m going to kill myself.” Your heart dropped, the weight of his words sinking in. Trying to process what you just saw; your body was already moving before your brain could catch up.
Rushing out the door with your body on autopilot, you grabbed the first hoodie you could find. The city lights blur in your vision as you sprinted, your mismatched slippers slapped against the soaked pavement. The stench of damp garbage and wet cardboard filled your nose. Each breath burning your lungs, matching the persistent rhythm of the rain. The weight of the message you just read clings on you like the humid air before a storm, heavy and inescapable. What if I don’t get there in time? The thought slipped your mind while running, followed by another you couldn’t shake off: What if it’s my fault?
You barely even noticed that you reached his building, your legs shaking with adrenaline. “Please, let me in,” you cried out to the security as you were quivering from the cold. “He’s going to hurt himself!” You didn’t care if they thought you were crazy; a life depended on this. Your mind raced through different images of what you might find behind the door- scenarios that could haunt you forever if they wasted any more time.
You pounded on his door. Each knock mirrored the panic in your voice. What if it’s too late? What if I can’t save him? Your mind races, until finally, the door creaked open. A sigh of relief escaped your lips.
A suffocating gloom enveloped you as you stepped into the room. There he was, just behind the door, his hunched-over posture illuminated by the dim yellow light. He avoided your gaze like a little kid caught in a lie. Instinctively, you reached for him, wrapping your arms around his frame. His touch soothed the shivers on your body, and his familiar scent calmed the frantic beat of your heart- but something felt off. You couldn’t pinpoint it, but tension lingered in the room. As you pulled away, your eyes traced every inch of him, scanning for any sign of harm. Relief washed over you when there was none.
Then it dawned on you: No blood. No cuts. No wounds. His body was unscathed.
Your breath hitched, anger bubbling inside you. You felt lightheaded- torn between the image burned in your mind and the contradiction in front of you. Did he just lie to me? you wondered. Your instincts screamed at you to walk away. You wanted to shout– to demand an explanation– but rather than lashing out, you swallowed your anger and said, “I’m here, okay? I’m here.” You figured he needed to hear those words more than the words clawing at your throat.
He pulled you into another embrace, his arms a cage as much as they were comfort. This isn’t right. Nothing is making sense, you thought. But then under his breath, he whispered, “I’m glad you’re here. I need you.” For a moment, the storm paused. The sound of the rain faded in the distance, and the strong winds were replaced by his warmth. Feelings of anger and confusion melted away. Your other duties, your doubts- forgotten.
In another universe, you walked out the door. In this one, you chose to stay. What if something did happen? You wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt. That night, you left still questioning, but still trying to convince yourself it would get better.
After the storm passed, you thought things would calm down. Instead, weekend after weekend, you sat alone, waiting for texts that never came. The glow of your laptop screen flickered in the darkness, your favorite sitcom running as background noise- a poor attempt to silence the growing emptiness inside of you. While he went out again and again, you stayed home. You began to feel the weight of his patterns, growing exhausted each passing day, losing a piece yourself every time you chose to stay. He gets like this when he knows he has your attention back. But when you don’t give him the attention he craves, he goes back to the person that goes into extremes to prove how much he loves you.
It’s not like you hadn’t tried to stop him from going out. One night, you even fought about it in the middle of the street, your voice trembling as you begged him not to go. Each passerby stared at you like you were crazy, and there were times you even wondered if maybe you were. Call it a woman’s intuition, but something felt off- a nagging suspicion gnawing at you, with every party, every missed text.
“You’re crazy! Do you not trust me?!” he yelled. You froze at his accusation, shame washing over you. Why am I being so controlling? He deserves to have fun, you thought. In the end, all you could do was whisper, “Of course, I trust you.” He was your partner, after all. Trust is an important foundation of any good relationship, isn’t it? So, despite the ache in your chest you let it go.
But then came the truth. A friend, who had seen him at these parties, confirmed your fears. You tried to dismiss their words, push the thoughts away, squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to erase the image. But it didn’t work.
You couldn’t help but imagine all of the things he did when you weren’t around. The image of him kissing someone else felt like a knife being twisted on your chest, over and over again. The image of him pressing his skin against another wouldn’t wash away, no matter how much you tried. It was like he turned your heart into glass, and he chose to shatter it into a million pieces. Each jagged piece stuck to you like a scar, even years later.
“Nothing like that happened!” he insisted when you confronted him. He swore he wasn’t like your cheating father- he was different. He loved you. He said it over and over again, even going as far as to threaten to die for you. In the end, you believed him.
Maybe it was a lapse in judgment. Maybe love clouded your instincts. Maybe it was your hope that things could go back to the way they were. You don’t know. All you know is you stayed.
Questions flooded your mind– When will I ever learn? When will I say enough is enough?
It took him punching you in the middle of the street, in front of friends and strangers, for you to finally get the answers to those questions. But by then, it was too late. Heavy footsteps came towards you, and before you could react, you found yourself on the ground with a thud, defenseless.
You froze. Not from shock he hit you- it had happened before- but because now, your dirty laundry was out in the open. You tried to justify his actions, maybe it was the alcohol, the stress– anything but him– but deep down, you knew. It was him. And he could only save himself.
For the first time, you realized: it was time to walk away.
You tried to stop the tears from coming, but the compassion on other people’s faces amplified the isolation you had been enduring. You wonder, how did it get to this point? When did your relationship go from a sanctuary to a source of constant anxiety? You let the tears fall, feeling both drained and free. You let yourself feel everything- not just the heartbreak, but the relief. The release of knowing it was time to let go. To reclaim yourself.
For too long, you thought love meant staying through everything, no matter how much you lost. But love can also mean choosing yourself and knowing when to walk away. You learned that love doesn’t require sacrifice at the expense of your own soul. Loving someone else shouldn’t mean losing yourself.
He was responsible for his own life, no matter how much you tried to save him. But now, it was time to choose yourself. You are not bound to someone else’s struggles. You are responsible for your own life.
That day, you stood back up, still shaken, but no longer pushing your doubts aside. As you walked away, the skies began to clear. You made it out, just in time to feel the warmth of the sun on your skin.
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The ManifestStation publishes content on various social media platforms many have sworn off. We do so for one reason: our understanding of the power of words. Our content is about what it means to be human, to be flawed, to be empathetic. In refusing to silence our writers on any platform, we also refuse to give in to those who would create an echo chamber of division, derision, and hate. Continue to follow us where you feel most comfortable, and we will continue to put the writing we believe in into the world.
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