Chapter 4: Love, Lies, and Dancers

It was Eli.

He wore a plain black hoodie and a mask, but I knew him instantly.

There was no mistaking the way he moved, shoulders hunched like he was trying to disappear. But I’d know him anywhere, mask or not.

He didn’t see me, just walked to a booth where the crowd parted for him.

People called out his name, hands reaching for high-fives. He slid into the booth, surrounded by laughter and easy conversation.

I watched him pull off the mask and take a beer from someone.

He tipped the bottle in thanks, grinning that crooked grin I’d memorized years ago.

A young woman leaned close, whispering in his ear. Eli nodded absently, answering her with that old easy charm.

She laughed at something he said, touching his arm. He leaned in, but his eyes looked tired, distant, like he was somewhere else entirely.

I never used to get jealous. Not me.

Back then, I’d trusted him with everything—my heart, my future, even my fears. I never thought I’d be the girl watching from the sidelines.

I always believed nothing could come between us. I knew all about his charm, but I trusted his loyalty.

We’d weathered storms together—family drama, money troubles, late-night fights that ended in laughter. I thought we were unbreakable.

When did that change? When did Eli stop loving me?

The question gnawed at me, a splinter I couldn’t pull out. Maybe it was a slow fade, or maybe it happened all at once. I wish I knew.

I still remember, after he said he wanted to break up, he never came back to our apartment.

His side of the closet stayed empty, his toothbrush gone from the cup. I waited for him to walk through the door, but he never did.

I went to the bar where he worked, called all his friends, even knocked on doors trying to find him.

I left messages, begged for answers, but nobody could tell me where he’d gone. It was like he’d vanished, leaving only echoes behind.

I sent so many messages. Begging to know what I did wrong. Asking if we could talk. Swearing I’d change anything.

My texts piled up, unread. I poured my heart out, desperate for a reply. All I got was silence.

I told him I didn’t care if he fooled around—just don’t shut me out.

I was willing to forgive anything, just to keep him close. Maybe that was my biggest mistake.

Later, I just wanted to know he was safe.

I worried about him, about what he might do. I told myself it was love, but maybe it was just habit.

I said he didn’t have to talk to me—just text back so I’d know he was okay.

I would’ve settled for a single word, anything to prove he was still out there somewhere.

In the end, I was out of options. At three in the morning, outside the bar, I sat on the steps, shivering, phone in numb hands, typing:

[“I agree to break up. Come home, let’s settle the lease.”]

I hit send, my fingers stiff with cold. The street was empty, save for the flicker of neon and the distant hum of traffic. I waited, breath fogging in the air.

Ten minutes later, Eli showed up beside me.

He moved like a shadow, quiet and careful. I barely recognized him, but I knew it was him by the way he stood—close enough to care, far enough to keep his distance.

He’d been there all along. I just couldn’t see him.

Maybe he was waiting for me to let go. Maybe he just didn’t want to be the one to say goodbye.

Standing not too close, not too far, looking at me with those cold eyes.

His gaze was unreadable, like he’d already left in his mind. I searched for the boy I used to know, but all I found was a stranger.

In that moment, I realized I never really knew him at all.

All the years, all the memories—we were two people passing through each other’s lives, never really touching. It hurt more than I could say.

That place was Eli’s lease. He said he was leaving soon, had paid three months up front, and I could stay or talk to the landlord about ending it.

He laid it out, matter-of-fact, no room for argument. I nodded, too tired to fight. It was over. Simple as that.

He left so clean. All he took was a black backpack, his wallet, and papers.

No keepsakes, no goodbyes. Just the essentials. I watched him walk away, the echo of his footsteps bouncing off the stairwell walls. And that was it.

Nothing else.

I stood in the doorway, clutching the kite, wondering how something so big could end so quietly.

I walked him downstairs, still in our matching pajamas from Target.

The bottoms were too long on him, the shirt baggy on me. We must’ve looked ridiculous, but I didn’t care. It was the last thing we’d ever share.

I handed him a little kite keychain and smiled: “Hope you find your freedom.” I meant it. I really did.

My voice barely held steady, but I meant it. I wanted him to be happy, even if it wasn’t with me.

Eli, are you free enough now?

Sometimes, late at night, I wonder if he ever found what he was chasing. Or if he’s still out there, running from ghosts. Like I am.