I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
https://www.patréon.com/emperordragon
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Chapter.49: Space
Sam sat on the edge of her bed, arms wrapped tightly around her knees. The walls of her room felt smaller now, like they were leaning in, just a few inches closer than they should be. The bedroom door was still closed from when Jon left, but the weight of that hadn't lifted.
She hadn't moved since. Not really. Just breathed—deep, uneven breaths that barely passed for functioning.
She didn't cry. She hadn't since she was a kid. It wasn't how she processed things. But if someone were to look into her eyes, they'd see the unmistakable residue of emotional whiplash.
"Why the hell did I say that?"
Her voice was barely a whisper, like she was afraid the walls would answer.
She hated this. Every part of it.
Jon had done nothing wrong. He'd been wonderful, attentive, funny, and kind. Exactly the kind of person she had always hoped to meet. And that was the problem. Everything was perfect. Too perfect. Perfect enough to feel like she was living someone else's life, or like she had skipped a chapter somewhere and suddenly found herself deep in something huge.
The lunch this afternoon had been the tipping point. Two families coming together, laughing like old friends, talking like they were already planning holidays together. Gloria had joked about a wedding, and Diane had laughed in response. Sam had smiled too, but something inside her clenched.
Panic.
Not the run-from-a-fire kind, but the slow, creeping dread that things were spiraling faster than she could track. That she was being pulled into something *big*—something permanent—before she even had time to *be*. Jon wasn't the problem. He was the anchor. The storm was entirely in her own head.
It wasn't that she didn't love Jon. She did. She really did. But the way everything accelerated so fast—it made her feel like she was on a rollercoaster with no brakes.
"I just need a second to breathe," she whispered into the empty room.
She stared at the spot where Jon had stood just hours earlier. She could still feel the warmth of his presence, the look on his face when she told him she wanted a break. That stunned silence. That look in his eyes—a quiet shattering. It haunted her.
She lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Her phone buzzed with a text. Not from Jon—just a group chat. She didn't check it.
She hated the word *break*. It sounded like quitting. Like weakness. But the truth was, she didn't want out. She just wanted a breath. Space to understand why something good had started feeling like pressure instead of peace.
"I should've explained it better…" she muttered.
But Jon had looked so hurt. That flash of disbelief in his eyes—it stabbed. He had offered to slow things down. That should've been enough. But no. She had said *space*. Not pause, not breathe—*space*. As if they were planets drifting apart.
What if that's how he takes it?
She turned on her side and hugged her pillow close. There were no tears—just that heavy ache behind the eyes that came with too many thoughts, too little clarity.
Part of her wanted to text him. Right now. Say something. Anything. But she didn't. Because what if she was wrong? What if she reached out too soon and unraveled the very space she thought she needed?
No. Not yet.
Let the dust settle.
She wasn't done with him. Not even close. But she needed to understand why her heart had hit the brakes when all signs said "go."
She closed her eyes and let the room stay still around her. Somewhere in that stillness, maybe she'd find her answer.
Sam moved, curling into the soft pillow. Now there was only emptiness. A strange, hovering quiet where her certainty used to be.
She closed her eyes, hoping sleep would find her, hoping Jon would be okay, hoping she wouldn't wake up tomorrow with regret gnawing at her ribs.
Because even if she didn't know what she wanted right now—she knew she never wanted to lose him.
Jon's Perspective
The next morning arrived without fanfare. The sunday sun came in quietly through the blinds, brushing soft light against Jon's face. For a few seconds after waking, everything felt normal. Then memory clicked into place like a cruel punchline.
Sam wants a break.
But instead of the ache that settled in his chest the night before, today brought something else—calm. Not peace, not yet. But something close enough. A breath that didn't hurt to take.
Jon sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes, Ghost curled at the foot of the mattress, still asleep like he had no idea the world had shifted. Jon smiled faintly at the kitten. "You've got it figured out, huh? Eat, sleep, chase lasers. No drama."
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. The air was cool on his skin, and everything about the morning was ordinary—and that helped. He moved through his usual routine on autopilot: shower, shave, protein smoothie, pull on a hoodie and gym shorts. He didn't check his phone.
Downstairs, the Pritchett house was blessedly empty. Jay was likely out front, working on his car or hiding in his favorite chair with a football rerun. Gloria had errands. Manny was probably buried in some literary fever dream. None of them asked questions, and for that, Jon was grateful.
He arrived at the MMA gym just as the place opened. The sharp smell of sweat and rubber mats filled his lungs like a strange kind of medicine. It grounded him. He greeted a few familiar faces—trainers, fighters, regulars—but didn't linger. No sparring today. He didn't want contact. He wanted rhythm. Focus. Repetition.
He taped his hands in silence and stepped up to the heavy bag in the corner. With each strike—jab, cross, hook—he felt the tension crack and dissipate. Not rage, not aggression. Just movement. Just release.
The bag swayed. Jon reset. Again. Breathe. Again. Breathe. He lost himself in the rhythm.
Then, out of the corner of his eye—movement. The front door opened.
Jon threw one last clean jab and turned.
It was her.
Sam stood at the entrance in gym clothes, her water bottle in one hand, duffel in the other. She looked just as surprised to see him as he was to see her.
For a moment, neither of them moved. The ambient noise of the gym filled the space between them—grunts, thuds, the metallic screech of weights being racked.
Jon said nothing. Just nodded once.
Sam nodded back.
No words. Just that.
Jon turned back to the heavy bag, re-centered his stance.
Space, she had said.
So space, he would give.