Subscriber Sunday: Before the Lights: What I Finally Let Go
Bonus Scene Before the Concert
This one is for my subscribers… the ones who want the truth behind the moment.
Because before the music, before the tension, before I ever laid eyes on him…
There was Marcus.
And letting him go wasn’t as simple as it should’ve been.
Nico
Marcus is still sitting on the edge of the bed when I walk back into the room.
Same spot he’s been in for the last ten minutes.
Like, if he doesn’t move, this won’t be real.
Like, we hadn’t ended things a while ago. There’s no coming back from that… I made that clear long ago.
“You’re really leaving?” he asks, finally looking up at me.
I don’t answer right away. I just grab my duffel bag from the chair, tossing in the last of what I need.
Because if I look at him too long… I might fold.
And I’m too tired to start this over again.
“We already talked about this,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “There’s nothing else to say.”
“That’s not true,” he pushes, standing now. “There’s a lot we didn’t say.”
A quiet breath leaves me.
Yeah.
There is.
But none of it changes anything.
“Marcus…” I start, shaking my head. “We’ve been fighting for something that stopped working a long time ago.”
“That doesn’t mean we just throw it away.”
I finally look at him, and there it is.
That same look he always gives me when he thinks he can fix things just by wanting to.
But that’s the problem.
He only wants to fix it now.
Now that it’s over.
Now that whatever he ran to didn’t work out.
“You didn’t think about that when you moved on,” I say, quieter now. “You made your choice.”
His jaw tightens. “That wasn’t.”
“It was,” I cut in. “You left, Marcus. Maybe not physically at first, but you checked out. And when you finally did go… you didn’t look back.”
Silence fills the room.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Honest.
“I came back,” he says after a second. “Doesn’t that count for something?”
It does.
That’s what makes this hard, because I did love him.
A part of me probably always will.
But love wasn’t enough to keep us from breaking the first time.
And it’s not enough to fix what’s already been broken twice.
“I don’t want to try again,” I say, and it almost sounds like a lie when it leaves my mouth.
