The ultimatum hangs over me like a suspended blade. Three days. Two days. Counting down seconds until everything either resolves or detonates completely.
I move through the house performing normalcy. Pass Jordan in hallways with my skin electric from cellular memory. His hands. His mouth. The way he filled spaces I didn't know were empty. We don't speak. Don't acknowledge what happened in the workshop. Just orbit each other in careful avoidance while my parents remain oblivious.
At dinner, Jordan discusses his last week here with Dad. Packing. Final details. How quickly time has passed.
"We'll miss having you around." Dad refills Jordan's wine. "House won't be the same."
"I'll miss it too." Jordan's eyes find mine across the table. Hold for a heartbeat. "All of it."
Mom asks about my day. I lie smoothly. Art. Reading. Normal things daughters do. She smiles like she believes me.
Under the table, my phone buzzes.
Grant: Two days left.
I silence it. Push food around my plate. The belt presses against my hip. Reminder that I'm still performing. Still caged in ways no one can see.
Later, in my room, another message.
Grant: I need to know your answer.
And the next morning.
Grant: I'm waiting, Maya.
Each message is a reminder of the choice I don't want to make. Each word is a countdown to destruction.
I respond finally on Friday afternoon.
Me: Can we meet? Coffee?
Grant: When?
Me: Now. Pick me up?
Grant: I'll be there in twenty.
I tell Mom I'm going for a walk. She barely looks up from her magazine. Grant picks me up three blocks over where she can't see his car.
The drive is silent. Heavy. When we reach the coffee shop, he looks genuinely haggard. Dark circles under his eyes. Clothes slightly rumpled. The careful polish he usually maintains visibly cracked.
We order. Sit in a back corner where no one from church would find us. The coffee tastes like ash.
"I don't want to do this." He says it quiet. Defeated.
"Then don't."
"I can't just let it go. Pretend I didn't see what I saw." His hands wrap around his cup. White-knuckled. "You made me care about you, Maya. And the whole time, you were with him."
He can't even say Jordan's name. Like speaking it would make it more real. More painful.
"I did care. I do care." The words feel insufficient. Brutal. "Just not the way you wanted me to."
His laugh is bitter. Hollow. "That's the thing about wanting someone. It doesn't matter if they want you back differently. The asymmetry still destroys you."
The honesty cuts both ways. I reach for his hand across the table. He pulls away like my touch burns.
"Don't. You don't get to comfort me." His voice cracks slightly. "You don't get to make this easier."
"Grant—"
"Do you love him?" The question comes out raw. "I need to know. Do you actually love him or is this just rebellion? Just wanting what you're not supposed to have?"
I don't answer immediately. Can't. Because I don't know if what I feel is love or obsession or the twisted result of being caged too long. Jordan makes me feel alive in ways that terrify me. Makes me want to burn everything down just to feel the heat. But is that love? Or just desperation wearing love's face?
"I don't know what I feel." The admission costs something. "All I know is I can't stop wanting him. Can't stop thinking about him. Even when I should. Even when I'm with you."
Grant's expression crumples. Rebuilds. Hardens.
"At least you're honest now."
"I'm sorry." The words feel pathetically inadequate. "I'm so sorry I hurt you."
"Sorry doesn't change anything." He stands. Pulls out his wallet. Drops cash on the table. "Sunday, Maya. Him or your future. That's your choice."
"What if I can't choose?"
"Then I make the choice for you. And trust me, you won't like the outcome."
He walks out. Leaves me sitting alone with cold coffee and the weight of impossible decisions.
I take a different route home. Walk instead of calling for a ride. Need the movement. The air. The illusion of freedom while everything closes in.
By the time I reach the house, dusk has settled. Jordan's car is gone. Dad says he went to finalize apartment details. Won't be back until late.
The relief and disappointment hit simultaneously. Grateful I don't have to see him. Desperate to see him. The contradiction exhausts me.
That night, I lie in bed trying to imagine futures where this ends without casualties. Where everyone gets what they need and no one gets destroyed.
The scenarios dissolve before they fully form.
If I choose Jordan, Grant tells my parents everything. The belt. The key. The lies. They cut me off. Art school disappears. Freedom evaporates. And for what? A relationship built on secrecy with a man who's leaving anyway?
If I choose Grant, Jordan leaves for Providence. I marry someone I don't love. Live the life my parents designed. Safe. Trapped. Dying slowly in a cage that looks like blessing.
If I choose neither, Grant still has the power to destroy me. Still holds the threat over my head like a weapon. My freedom dependent on his mercy.
Every scenario ends with someone destroyed.
Grant's heart shattered by asymmetrical wanting.
Jordan's chance to be in my life eliminated by duty and fear.
My own hard-won freedom sacrificed to someone else's agenda.
There are no clean answers. No solutions that don't require sacrifice.
I turn onto my side. Stare at the wall. The belt sits in my closet. Waiting for morning. For the performance to resume. For me to lock myself back into the cage and pretend everything is fine.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand.
Jordan: Can't sleep either?
The message makes my chest ache. He's out there somewhere. Awake. Thinking about this. About me. About the impossible situation we've created.
I should ignore it. Should make this easier by creating distance.
Instead I type: No. Can't stop thinking.
Jordan: About what?
Me: Everything. Nothing. How to make this not hurt.
Jordan: If you figure it out, let me know.
The conversation dies there. Nothing left to say that won't make it worse.
By Sunday, I have to choose.
And no matter what I choose, someone bleeds.
The only question is who.