Chapter 6: Wounds and Walls
The restaurant was quieter than usual.
Low lights. Soft jazz. Conversations fading into the clinking of cutlery. It was a cozy French place Ethan had insisted she try.
“You’ll love the sea bass,” he said as the waiter walked off.
Lena didn’t respond right away.
Her hands rested on the table, fingers loosely curled around her wine glass. She looked... tired. Not the kind that sleep could fix.
Ethan tilted his head.
“You okay?”
She gave him a quick smile. “Yeah.”
“Lena.”
“I’m okay.”
He said nothing, just waited. That calm stare again. The one that always made her talk more than she planned to.
She sighed. “I had a rough morning.”
“Work?”
“Kind of.”
He waited again.
She laughed under her breath. “God, you’re good at this.”
“At what?”
“Sitting quietly. Letting people talk.”
He shrugged. “Some people fill silence. I listen.”
“Dangerous skill,” she muttered.
They sat quietly for a moment.
Then Lena looked up.
“You ever been with someone who made you feel small?”
Ethan’s brow furrowed. “Small how?”
“Like… invisible. Or like everything that made you, you, was something to fix.”
His eyes darkened. “Yeah. I have.”
She nodded slowly. “Me too.”
He leaned in slightly, voice low. “What happened?”
She hesitated. Then breathed in.
“His name was Jared. Met him when I was twenty-five. He was funny. Smart. Said all the right things.”
“Sounds familiar,” Ethan said softly.
She smiled. Weakly. “Yeah. He was perfect... until he wasn’t.”
Ethan said nothing.
“He started by pointing out little things. ‘That shirt doesn’t fit right.’ ‘You don’t really need dessert, do you?’ Stuff like that.”
Ethan’s jaw twitched.
“Then it was questions. ‘Why are you texting her so much?’ ‘Do you really need to stay at work late again?’”
Her fingers tightened on the glass.
“One night he accused me of cheating. We fought. He grabbed my arm. Left a bruise.”
Ethan’s hands curled into fists on the table.
“I left a week later,” she said.
“You should’ve left that night.”
“I should’ve. But it’s not that easy when someone convinces you they’re the only one who’ll ever love you.”
Silence.
“I was lucky,” she said. “Some women don’t get out.”
“You don’t have to explain it to me,” Ethan said.
She looked at him.
“I see it,” he said softly. “In your eyes. You’re always scanning. Always tensed. Like you’re waiting for something to go wrong.”
She blinked, caught off guard.
He wasn’t wrong.
“I guess I never stopped expecting the other shoe to drop.”
“Is that why you almost didn’t meet me again?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
The waiter came by with their plates. They ate in silence for a few minutes. The kind that wasn’t awkward, but heavy. Full of things unsaid.
Lena took a bite, then set her fork down.
“You ever been in something like that?”
Ethan didn’t look at her right away.
“Yes,” he said. “Different kind of damage, but yes.”
“What happened?”
“She... lied. Constantly. About who she was, what she wanted. Made me feel like I was crazy for noticing.”
Lena nodded.
“I tried to fix it. For too long.”
“I get that.”
“I don’t want to fix people anymore,” he said. “Just be with someone real.”
She met his gaze. “Me too.”
Outside, they walked slowly beneath the streetlights. The city hummed around them. Horns. Laughter. A siren in the distance.
“You want to come up?” Lena asked when they reached her building.
Ethan didn’t answer right away.
“You sure?”
She nodded. “I want to.”
Her apartment was small but clean, warm. He looked around like he was memorizing the space.
“I like it,” he said.
“You don’t have to lie.”
“I’m not.”
She poured wine while he settled onto the couch.
“I don’t usually open up like that,” she said, handing him a glass.
“Then I’m honored.”
“No, I mean it. I usually keep it all in.”
“I can tell.”
She laughed. “You say that like it’s a warning label.”
“No,” he said gently. “It’s just part of you. I like all the parts.”
That made her go quiet.
They sat close. Too close. His arm brushed hers. Her breath hitched.
“I should say something,” she whispered.
“Say it.”
“I still don’t know if I trust you.”
Ethan turned to her slowly. “Why not?”
“Because I’ve seen perfect before. It always came with a price.”
He leaned in, so close she could smell the rain on his jacket.
“I’m not perfect, Lena.”
Her voice was barely audible. “Prove it.”
He kissed her.
It wasn’t rushed.
It wasn’t desperate.
It was quiet, steady—like he was listening to her even through that.
Her hand found his collar.
His slid around her waist.
When they finally broke apart, she rested her forehead against his.
“I don’t know what I’m doing.”
He smiled. “Good. Means you’re not pretending.”
Later, after he left, she stared at the door for a long time.
She felt lighter. Seen.
But beneath the glow, something small and sharp still poked at her ribs.
A whisper that didn’t quite go away:
Why did he know exactly what to say?
Across town, Ethan sat alone in his car, still parked outside her building.
He didn’t move. Didn’t start the engine.
He opened his phone. Scrolled through an old photo album.
Stopped at one picture.
A woman. Brown hair. Red dress.
She looked almost exactly like Lena.
He stared at it for a long time.
Then deleted the photo.