Tell me how to love you

Mark stood at the threshold, the doorway a silent divider between two worlds. Inside, Emma's father sat in that imposing leather armchair, his posture rigid, his expression unreadable--like a statue, sculpted from granite. His eyes, sharp and calculating, traced over Mark with the kind of scrutiny that made the air feel thick, like it was pressing in from all sides. There was no warmth in the gaze, no understanding. Just… weight.

The silence stretched between them, pulling taut like a wire, vibrating with something dark and unspoken. Mark felt the throb of his jaw--the cold compress now half-melted against his skin--but it wasn't the physical pain that caught his attention. It was the sense of impending consequence, the weight of a thousand quiet judgments, all of them aimed at him from across the room.

"You can go now," Emma's father said, his voice smooth, almost casual. But there was an edge to it, a finality that made the room seem smaller, more suffocating.

Mark didn't respond immediately. He stood frozen, caught between the doorframe and the hallway. His eyes flicked briefly to Emma's door, which had remained closed since she stormed off. He waited for some sign, a movement, a soft call, anything. Maybe she would open it, maybe she'd step out and tell her father to back off. Maybe she'd look at him, see the pain on his face, and say, "Come on, let's go."

But nothing happened.

Not even a sound from behind the door.

The weight in Mark's chest deepened. It wasn't just the quiet that bothered him now, it was the absence of her. The emptiness between them that seemed to stretch further with each passing second. The man sitting across the room--this immovable force of cold authority--had already claimed the space, had already marked his territory. And Emma, despite everything, had already made her choice. She had retreated. She had stayed silent.

That realization stung more than any punch Dylan could've thrown.

Mark's throat tightened. "I--" He started, but his voice faltered. He cleared it, forcing the words out this time. "Tell her… I'll call her later."

The words felt hollow, empty, like he was trying to fill a space that was already too vast. Emma's father didn't flinch. Didn't even acknowledge the effort. He simply stared at Mark, his gaze unblinking, as though he were studying him, weighing him, and finding him wanting.

There was no anger in the man's eyes, no fury. Only something colder. Something distant, like he was already anticipating Mark's departure, as though the only thing left to do was let him walk away.

Mark couldn't remember the last time he felt this small. Not even in front of Dylan, with his fists raised in anger, had Mark felt so utterly insignificant. But standing there, in the presence of Emma's father, he could feel himself being sized up and dismissed in the same breath.

After what seemed like an eternity, the man's lips barely moved. "You should go."

Mark's breath caught in his throat, a quiet disbelief flooding his senses. How could this be it? How could this cold, mechanical exchange be all there was? Emma had been so alive, so present just hours ago. But now? Now she was behind that door, hidden away, and Mark was nothing more than an outsider--an afterthought, cast adrift in a world that he didn't belong to.

Mark took a step back. The room felt too small now, the walls closing in on him, forcing him to retreat. His legs moved on their own, taking him further away from the man seated in the armchair, away from the world he'd been pulled into by one simple, reckless kiss. He didn't even notice when the door clicked softly behind him, sealing him out. He just kept walking, the air on his skin feeling colder than it had moments before.

Outside, the city night stretched before him, vast and indifferent. The chill of the evening wrapped around him, sharp and biting. He had expected the fresh air to clear his head, to push away the fog of confusion and hurt that had been settling into his bones since the moment he walked into that apartment. But it didn't. The night felt endless, a heavy blackness that reflected the emptiness inside him.

He walked without direction, his footsteps hollow in the quiet street, the ice pack now forgotten in his hand, slowly melting into nothing. He could hear the faint hum of distant traffic, the occasional rustle of wind against the trees, but the sound seemed far away. Like it belonged to another world.

Each step he took was a slow acknowledgment of what had just happened. Emma hadn't come after him. She hadn't stopped him. She hadn't said anything. And her father… her father hadn't even bothered to raise his voice. It was all too easy for them--this life they led. Too smooth. Too seamless. Too suffocating.

Mark's mind raced, thoughts tumbling over one another, tangled and confused. He couldn't understand it. None of it made sense. He had been so certain--so sure--that what he and Emma had was real. That the warmth between them, the stolen moments of quiet conversation, the laughter in her eyes, meant something.

But now, standing here on the edge of the city, with the cold air biting at his face and the weight of her father's words still lingering in his ears, Mark began to doubt everything he thought he knew. Maybe it was all just a distraction for her. Maybe she'd never truly seen him for who he was. Maybe he was just a diversion, a momentary escape from the suffocating reality of her life.

Mark stopped at the corner, his shoes scraping against the concrete. He looked back, just once. His eyes traced the outline of the building--silent, dark, and unyielding. He could barely make out the shape of Emma's window, faintly glowing from a light left on inside. He had no idea if she was still there, still sitting by the window, looking down at him, wondering if he would come back.

But he didn't.

He couldn't. Not like this. Not when everything felt so wrong.

Instead, he turned his back on the apartment and walked down the quiet street, each step carrying him farther away from the life he thought he was becoming a part of. He didn't know where he was going. Didn't know if he would even stop walking. But the ache in his chest was growing with every passing second, and he needed to drown it out, to lose himself in something--anything--that wasn't this.

The night seemed endless, stretching out before him like an unbroken path. And for the first time, Mark felt the weight of something deeper, something he hadn't realized he was carrying until now. This wasn't just a break from a date. This wasn't just a mistake in judgment. This was a moment that shifted the ground beneath him, that made everything feel uncertain.

The world felt different now--warmer, quieter, but in a way that left him exposed, vulnerable. He wanted to blame her father. He wanted to scream at him, to tell him how wrong he was, how he had no right to come between him and Emma. But Mark knew the truth. The man wasn't the real problem.

Emma was.

Or maybe it wasn't Emma, but the world she had come from. A world that Mark wasn't sure he could ever be a part of, no matter how much he cared about her.

The thought settled heavy on his heart.

---

Mark kept walking.

It wasn't until the sharp, bitter wind began to sting at his face that he realized how far he'd gone. He didn't know the streets anymore, didn't recognize the buildings that lined the road. He didn't care. The city had become a blur of lights and shadows, just like everything else in his life right now.

He stopped at a small park, one he didn't even know existed, and slumped down onto a cold bench. His mind was a jumbled mess, each thought sharper than the last, but none of them seemed to make sense. Emma had been his anchor in the chaos, her presence the only thing that made him feel tethered to something solid. But now she was gone, tucked away in her apartment, surrounded by a world he could barely begin to comprehend.

He closed his eyes, resting his head back against the bench, and let the night swallow him whole.

For the first time in a long while, Mark didn't know where he was going. And that terrified him.

---

***

A/N: Mark made his choice--to leave. But in the wake of it, the path ahead is far from clear. What comes next? Will he find his way back to Emma? Or is this really the end of everything they had?

Save, vote, and drop your thoughts below. The next chapter could change everything.