The Voice Behind His Kiss

On the seventh night of our cold war, at a crowded table in a dim, noisy downtown lounge, Simon lost a round of Truth or Dare. His friends immediately seized on the forfeit, hooting and egging him on to kiss any woman in the room. It was an obvious, orchestrated olive branch—a carefully constructed stage for Simon to walk over, press his mouth to mine, and let six years of unspoken stubbornness dissolve into applause. Instead, Simon stood up, smoothed the front of his tailored blazer, and turned toward my best friend, Kelsey. He didn't hesitate. He crossed the floor, framed Kelsey’s face in his large, elegant hands, and leaned down. A split second before their lips met, Simon’s internal voice tore through my skull, deafening and raw. "Stop me, Willa! Please, just tell me to stop!" "Say one word and I’ll shove her away." "I’m only doing this to break you. I just need you to care. I just need to know you still love me." The screams inside his head were frantic, bleeding with desperation. On the outside, my mouth twitched into a quiet, bitter smile. Simon suffered from severe emotional detachment, an icy psychological numbness that masked a bottomless well of insecurity. Over the years, pushing me to the brink had become his favorite instrument. He tested my love by tormenting it. If I missed a call while trapped in a meeting, he took Kelsey out for sushi. If I worked five minutes past six, he bought Kelsey tickets to a midnight screening. For six years, whenever his secret thoughts cried out like a wounded child, I had folded. I would soften, apologize, and grovel on my knees just to put him back together. This time, I didn't move. I simply lowered my eyes, slipped the platinum promise band from my ring finger, and set it on the glass tabletop. If six years of unconditional surrender still couldn't fill the black hole inside him, then it was time to step out of the frame. To let him go—and finally, mercifully, let myself go too. … I downed the rest of my neat bourbon, left the ring sitting beside the empty tumbler, and turned toward the exit. The color instantly drained from Simon’s face. The men at the table froze, their smirks faltering. This wasn't how the script was supposed to go. For six years, through every single fight, I had been the docile one, scurrying after him like an eager stray hoping for a pat on the head. They had grown so accustomed to my compliance that they openly mocked it. To them, Simon’s tame little girlfriend possessed neither a temper nor a spine. Someone quickly tried to smooth it over. "Hey, Willa, come on, don't be like that. Can't you tell he’s just winding you up? Just say the word and beg him a little." Another college buddy chimed in, chuckling nervously. "Seriously, aren't you usually the one groveling at Simon’s feet? Don't act tough now, we all know how you are." "Hurry up," someone else muttered. "One more second and they’re actually locking lips." Kelsey tilted her head back against Simon’s chest, offering me a breezy, feline smile. "You better speak up, Willa. If Simon and I actually kiss, don't come crying to me later." I let out a soft, dry laugh. "It’s just a party game. Do whatever you want." The booth fell dead silent. Simon’s jaw tightened, his gray eyes turning glacial. He shot me a venomous, furious glare, grabbed the nape of Kelsey’s neck, and smashed his mouth down onto hers. It was hard, predatory, and lingering. Beneath the suffocating silence of the bar, his mind screamed in my ears, shrill and weeping: "Baby, please. Are you really throwing me away?" "Your heart is tearing in two right now, isn't it? Just tell me it hurts. Say it hurts, and we can go home." I had lived with these two jarring, incompatible realities for six long years. I still remembered the first time I met Simon. It was our college graduation party. While everyone else was getting blackout drunk on cheap beer and celebrating the future, Simon had sat alone in the darkest corner of the patio, brooding behind a glass of scotch. That was the night I first heard his inner thoughts. His parents had finalized their brutal, public divorce that afternoon. Neither of them wanted custody of the family heir. Both had started new, shiny families, leaving him an abandoned, wealthy stray. Inside, he had been drowning in loneliness, crying out for anyone to sit beside him. So, out of pity, I had walked over. On the outside, he had told me to fuck off, sneering that I was pathetic and shameless. Inside, his thoughts had whispered: "Why is she so gentle? Her voice sounds like warm rain." "I love her. I want to hold her so badly." He was the golden boy of the city’s upper crust, brilliant and untouchable, yet cursed with clinical depression and a debilitating emotional detachment. What started as sympathy gradually consumed me. I thought my love could heal him. I spent years managing his darkness, pulling him back from the ledge, believing that beneath the frost lay a devotion reserved only for me. Yet his insecurity remained a parasite. He was convinced that everyone abandoned him eventually, so he constantly manufactured crises to prove I wouldn't leave. First, it was the silent treatment. Then smashing ceramic vases against baseboards. He would push me until I broke down in tears, until I begged for his forgiveness for slights I hadn't committed. Only then would he feel secure. I told myself it was just his condition. At least his inner voice never stopped repeating that he loved me more than life itself. Until I introduced him to Kelsey. That was when I finally saw what Simon looked like when he genuinely cared about someone. He could talk on the phone with Kelsey until sunrise without a trace of irritation, yet answering a simple question from me seemed to exhaust him. He knew Kelsey’s convoluted, four-syllable oat-milk coffee orders by heart, yet he routinely forgot I had a severe caffeine allergy. He tracked Kelsey’s menstrual cycles on his calendar, yet he couldn't remember our anniversary if his life depended on it. And tonight, he would rather perform a passionate, wet kiss with Kelsey in front of a dozen spectators than utter a single soothing syllable to keep me from walking out the door. His thoughts claimed he loved me. His body, his time, and his instinct belonged entirely to another woman. A love that only existed inside a man’s head while his hands touched someone else was worthless. Watching Simon crush Kelsey against his chest, tears finally blurred my vision. I didn't stop walking. Outside, the autumn sky was heavy and charcoal gray. A sharp wind cut through the street, driving a thin, freezing drizzle into the pavement. I sat on a concrete planter near the curb, pulling my knees toward my chest, trying to exhale the cold, poisoned knot in my ribs. My phone buzzed in my coat pocket. An Instagram notification. A nine-photo grid posted by one of his fraternity brothers, shot in high-definition. Simon and Kelsey, lips locked, hands tangled in each other's hair. The comment section was already flooded with mutual acquaintances. One of them had even tagged my handle, then deleted it seconds later, as if to make sure I’d see the preview. "That’s our boy Simon! Who said the guy was asexual?" "Look at him go. Men will be men." A humorless smile tugged at my mouth. I tapped the screen and gave the post a like. Then I exited the app and opened my email, drafting a quick message to my director. "The three-year corporate transfer to the overseas headquarters—I’ll take it." My director responded within sixty seconds: "I thought you turned it down because your partner was dealing with medical issues?" I closed my eyes. When the promotion notice had first arrived, Simon had barely looked up from his tablet. When I warned him that the three-year assignment meant long distance, he had shrugged carelessly: "Go if you want. Nobody’s holding a gun to your head." Yet his inner voice had been sobbing violently: "Baby’s leaving me. She’s abandoning me. I’m going to die." Because of that pathetic, secret plea, I had forfeited a career leap I’d spent three grueling years working toward. Out loud, he had mocked me, calling me spineless, claiming I couldn't survive three days without him. Inside, he had preened with twisted triumph: "She loves me too much. She can't bear to leave me." Another vibration snapped me back to the cold bench. "Great," my director wrote back. "I have a seat reserved on tomorrow afternoon’s flight. It’s yours." I wiped my wet cheeks and began the walk back to our brownstone. The rain turned into a torrential downpour. Traffic crawled bumper-to-bumper, and every rideshare app showed zero available cars in the gridlock. With the apartment only eight blocks away, I gritted my teeth and plunged into the sheets of rain. Within minutes, I was drenched to the skin. Halfway there, my heel caught on a subway grate; the ankle twisted sharply, and the stiff leather rubbed the back of my heel raw until blood soaked into the inner lining. Every step felt like grinding my foot into crushed glass. By the time I dragged myself to our building, shivering violently with soaked clothes plastered to my ribs, my foot was a shredded mess. I reached out a trembling thumb to the smart lock. First try: nothing. Second try: a red flash. On the third attempt, the keypad let out a shrill beep and locked down completely. Panicking in the cold, I dialed Simon’s phone. It rang out into voicemail. My battery sat at ten percent. Outside, the storm was escalating into a gale, the temperature dropping fast. Finding a locksmith at midnight in this weather was impossible. I dialed his number one last time. The door swung open. Kelsey stood in the warm entryway, wearing Simon’s crisp white button-down shirt. Her bare legs were exposed, and a slow, knowing smirk spread across her lips. I stood on the welcome mat, water dripping from my hair, completely frozen. Kelsey burst into a mocking laugh, turning her head back toward the living room. "Thirty minutes and four seconds! Simon, pay up, you won the bet!" They had been taking bets. Betting on how long I would stand in the storm, waiting to see if I would break down and cry outside the door. Seeing the hollow, murderous stillness in my face and the dark water pooling beneath my bleeding shoes, Kelsey’s smirk faltered slightly. "Hey, Willa, don't look at me like that. We were just messing around." I pushed past her shoulder without a word, heading straight for the master bathroom. Behind me, Kelsey’s voice turned honeyed and meek. "Simon, she looks really upset. Maybe you should go talk to her." Simon’s dismissive voice drifted from the hallway. "Leave her alone. It’s her own fault. Who gets locked out and just stands there blubbering instead of calling a locksmith? All she knows how to do is cry." Yet his inner thoughts were giddy with relief: "Look how mad she is. She looks so adorable when she’s furious. God, I want to kiss her so bad." Kelsey giggled. "So, about our bet..." "What?" Simon replied. "Trying to back out?" "A bet’s a bet! Name your terms." I turned the shower handle all the way to hot. The boiling water scalded my shivering skin, but it couldn't touch the ice settling deep inside my chest. When I stepped out in dry sweatpants, Simon and Kelsey were still in the living room, wrestling over the television remote like playful newlyweds, their easy laughter bouncing off the crown molding. Simon’s mind chimed as I walked past: "Look at me, Willa. Just look at me. I dare you to pretend you aren't dying of jealousy." I didn't spare them a glance. I went into the bedroom, hauled my hard-shell suitcase from the top of the closet, and began tossing in my clothes. An hour later, the apartment finally went quiet. My phone chimed with a reminder from my director, asking me to ensure all my confidential overseas project files were organized for tomorrow's handover. I remembered the thick manila folder was still in the home office. When I stepped into the dark hallway, the living room was empty. The office door was shut, but the key remained in the brass lock. Without thinking, I turned the handle and pushed it open. The scene burned into my retinas before my brain could process it. My heart didn't just stop; it felt as though someone had reached inside my ribs and crushed it to powder. I slammed the heavy door shut, staggered backward into the corridor, and began to shake so violently my knees gave out. A tidal wave of bile surged up my throat. I scrambled into the half-bath down the hall, gripped the porcelain sink, and vomited until my stomach burned empty. What had I just walked in on? The buttons. Her bare collarbone. His mouth. I clung to the cold ceramic rim, gasping for air, tears streaming down my neck. In six years, Simon had never engaged in true physical intimacy with me. He had always claimed he suffered from severe sensory aversion—that touch repulsed him, that his emotional disorder made him incapable of carnal desire. I had believed him. I thought it was his trauma. I thought he was just a broken man who hadn't learned how to be touched. I spent years tiptoeing around his boundaries, respecting his space, waiting patiently for the day he might feel safe enough to let me in. He wasn't broken. He wasn't repulsed by touch. He just didn't want me. Footsteps approached. The office door clicked open, and Kelsey stepped into the hallway, her cheeks flushed a deep, post-coital pink. Simon’s shirt was carelessly fastened, the top three buttons undone to reveal angry red marks across her chest. Simon leaned against the door jamb behind her, exhaling a thin ribbon of cigarette smoke. He looked down at me, his face impassive. Inside his head, his thoughts were screaming in absolute terror: "Willa, it’s fake! It’s all an act!" "I staged it to make you react! I didn't touch her, I swear I didn't touch her!" Kelsey offered a soft, apologetic pout. "Willa, please don't get the wrong idea. It was just the forfeit from our bet." She took a step closer, her voice dripping with artificial innocence. "I lost, so I had to let him do whatever he wanted. But don't worry, we didn't cross the final line. I just helped him release in other ways. He didn't betray you, really." She reached out to take my wrist. A wave of pure disgust hit me. I jerked my arm away with everything I had. I barely put any force behind it, but Kelsey lost her balance, stumbling back and smacking her forehead against the drywall. A faint red welt bloomed near her hairline. I turned to walk away. Simon’s hand shot out like an iron vice, clamping down around my wrist. "Apologize to her," he snapped, his eyes dark with rage. I looked at him, feeling nothing. I had forgotten when Kelsey had turned into this creature. In our freshman dorm, we used to lie across twin beds, eating popcorn and mocking the toxic, manipulative women in campus drama. Kelsey used to swear she’d strangle any woman who weaponized victimhood to steal someone’s partner. She had despised how I catered to Simon. She used to call me pathetic, a martyr with a savior complex, wasting my youth on a block of ice. Every time Simon made me cry, she would slam her fists on the desk and swear she was going to ruin him for hurting me. The girl who once promised to fight the whole world for me was now standing across the hallway, twisting the knife with a smile. I closed my eyes, breathing through the ache. "We’re done, Simon. I’m leaving." His fingers stiffened. His mind exploded in panic: "She’s breaking up with me? Why? Is she really this jealous?" "Shit. I went too far. I have to fix this. I have to hold her." He took half a step toward me. Before his fingers could graze my sleeve, Kelsey let out a sharp, trembling sob. "Willa... you hit me over a man?" Her eyes brimmed with heavy tears, her lower lip trembling. She clutched her forehead, spun around, and bolted down the stairs toward the front door. Simon’s face darkened instantly. "Willa, when did you become so fucking vicious?" The words brushed past my ears like dry leaves. They didn't even sting. I turned back into the bedroom and zipped my luggage shut, my hands steady and deliberate. Behind me, his thoughts chased my heels: "Wait, baby, please wait. Let me go calm Kelsey down first, and then I’ll come back and make it right. Just be good. Stay right here." The heavy front door slammed shut with a deafening thud. It didn't matter. In a few hours, I would be at the international terminal. I would never see either of them again. I checked my briefcase for the transfer documents. The folder was gone. My phone lit up with a text from Kelsey. I ignored it, tearing through the study drawers. I had spent three months compiling that dossier—quarterly reviews, client portfolios, visa clearance. It was the only leverage I had to secure my new post. The phone buzzed relentlessly until I finally answered. Kelsey’s cold, triumphant chuckle filled the speaker. "Stop digging through the desk, Willa. I have your file. If you want it, come downstairs." She was waiting by the decorative lake near the edge of the residential park. In the dark, under the yellow streetlight, there wasn't a trace of the fragile girl who had wept in my hallway. I held out my hand. "Give me the file." She nodded toward the municipal trash compactor fifty yards away, her eyes gleaming with malice. My chest tightened. I ran toward the bins, tearing through the wet, rotting garbage bags in the pouring rain. The stench was foul, and jagged tin edges sliced into my palms, but I kept digging, frantic to find the white plastic sleeve. Behind me, a low, melodic laugh drifted through the rain. "You really are an idiot, Willa." Kelsey stood on the stone embankment by the water, the folder held loosely in her manicured fingers. "That’s why Simon will never respect you. He despises weak, desperate people." I lunged forward to grab it. Kelsey pulled it back, her smile widening. "You want it? Do me a favor first." Before I could speak, she opened her fingers. The folder drifted down and hit the dark, churning surface of the lake, bobbing against the weeds. "No!" I dropped to my knees, reaching out over the stone ledge to fish it out. A sudden, violent force struck the center of my back. I lost my balance and crashed into the freezing water. A second later, a loud splash sounded beside me. Kelsey had jumped in right after me. I realized her game immediately. Heavy, sprinting footsteps thudded against the wet pavement above, followed by a frantic shout. A tall figure plunged into the water. "Simon! Help me!" I gasped, choking on the dirty lake water, flailing toward him. Simon broke the surface, his gaze darting between me and Kelsey. His thoughts surfaced instantly, clear as a bell: "Willa, Kelsey can't swim. She’s going to drown." "I can't swim either, Simon." I beat the black water helplessly, watching him kick straight past my outstretched fingers and wrap his arms around Kelsey’s waist. Kelsey coughed dramatically, burying her face into his wet neck. She whispered something against his ear. Simon’s expression transformed into cold disgust as he glared down at me. "Willa, I didn't think you could be this evil! You shoved Kelsey into a lake just to get my attention?" Kelsey choked out a breath, her voice fragile. "Simon... she didn't mean it... she’s just hurting. She’s swallowing water... please, go save her, leave me..." "She tried to kill you!" Simon growled. "Why are you still defending her?" "She’s my sister..." Kelsey wept. "I can't let her drown..." Simon sneered, swimming toward the bank with Kelsey in his arms. "She’s in the shallow margin. She won't die. Let her choke on a few mouthfuls—maybe it’ll teach her a lesson about touching you." And his mind echoed in tandem: "Baby, just hold on for two minutes. As soon as I get Kelsey onto the grass, I’ll come right back for you." I stopped screaming. In the face of death, even his internal monologue prioritized her. On the grassy bank, Kelsey had already gone limp, feigning unconsciousness. Panic seized Simon; heart in his throat, he frantically dialed 911, and when the paramedics loaded her into the ambulance, he climbed in right behind them, too terrified to let her out of his sight. It was as if he had erased my existence entirely. In the dark water, I opened my mouth to call for help, but the bitter, freezing sludge flooded my throat. My limbs grew heavy as lead. My vision narrowed into pinpricks of black, and the gray autumn sky dissolved as the last spark of consciousness sank beneath the surface alongside my body... To make her performance airtight, Kelsey had deliberately inhaled several mouthfuls of dirty lake water. She kept up the act, pretending to be unconscious for over three hours before finally allowing her eyelids to flutter open. Simon had not left her bedside for a single second. Kelsey looked up at him, her lips parting into a weak, gentle smile. "Simon... thank you for saving me. I’m okay now. Where’s Willa?" Simon’s mind went completely blank. The blood drained from his face as the realization struck him like an axe to the skull. Willa was still in the water. His fingers shook uncontrollably as he tore his phone from his pocket and pressed my number. The call connected. A single dial tone chimed through the speaker. Then fell a dead, suffocating silence. A split second later, the flat, mechanical voice of an automated operator filled his ear: "We’re sorry. The number you have dialed is powered off."