Chapter 6: Boundaries on the Doorstep

Chapter Six

Derek must have seen the things I threw away when he came home that night. He knocked on our door, furious.

I heard the pounding before I even saw him—a desperate, wild rhythm. His voice echoed through the hallway, sharp and demanding.

"Natalie! Come out! We need to talk."

I hesitated for a second, then opened the door. The hall light flickered overhead, casting everything in harsh yellow shadows; a neighbor’s TV murmured through thin walls.

I opened the door.

He stood there, hands jammed in his pockets, eyes stormy. He didn’t look like the boy I grew up with—he looked older, harder, like life had already chewed him up a little.

He stood there, his face cold as ice.

His jaw worked, lips pressed tight. I could see the muscle twitching in his cheek, the same spot where his dimple used to show when he smiled.

"Why did you throw away everything I gave you?"

His voice was rough, like he’d been yelling before he got here. He sounded almost hurt, but I didn’t care.

"What’s it to you?"

I kept my tone flat, arms folded tight across my chest. I wouldn’t give him an inch—not anymore.

I stared at him indifferently.

The slap mark was still fresh on my cheek, blooming into a deep bruise. I knew it made me look vulnerable, but I held his gaze anyway.

The mark from the slap was still on my face. Derek hadn’t held back—my face was swollen and bruised, the finger marks clear and getting darker.

Even the porch light couldn’t hide it. He stared, eyes wide, as if seeing the damage for the first time.

Derek’s expression changed. He stared at the mark on my face, stunned.

His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. He looked lost, almost scared.

After a while, he said, confused,

He shuffled his feet, voice shaky. "I didn’t mean to..."

"...How did it get so bad?"

He reached out, fingers trembling, as if he could erase the bruise by wishing it away. I flinched back, refusing his touch.

He reached out to touch me again. I stepped back, expressionless.

The air between us was heavy. I felt nothing—not fear, not pity. Just a cold, calm certainty. A neighbor walked past, slowing at the sight of us, then hurried on.

I rarely get hurt. When I did before, I’d always run to Derek, wanting him to comfort me.

I remembered the times I’d scraped my knee or jammed my finger, running to him for a band-aid and a hug. It felt like a different lifetime.

Honestly, I’m not afraid of pain. I’m pretty thick-skinned—sometimes I wouldn’t notice a scratch for days. I just wanted to act spoiled in front of the person I liked.

But this—this was different. I wasn’t going to let him see me weak again.

Ironically, Derek, who always called me weak and delicate, actually liked it when I depended on him.

He’d tease, but his eyes always softened. Now, that softness was gone, replaced by something I didn’t recognize.

But now, I was done with that.

I steeled myself, swallowing the lump in my throat. I wouldn’t let him comfort me—not after everything.

Derek had never seen me so cold. For a moment, he couldn’t believe it.

He searched my face for a crack, something to hold onto, but I gave him nothing. I felt strangely powerful—like I finally had control.

"I didn’t mean it, Natalie. You cursed like that and I got angry..."

He stumbled over the words, as if he could talk his way out of what happened. I cut him off with a look.

I cut him off.

I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t cry. I just stood my ground, steady as stone.

"Since you’re here, let’s make it clear. From today on, let’s act like strangers."

The words tasted strange in my mouth, but I meant them. I needed him to know this wasn’t just a fight—it was final.

"From now on, call me by my full name. If you see me at school, don’t talk to me. Don’t call me Nat. And don’t ever come knocking on my door at night again."

I kept my voice calm, almost gentle. I watched his face crumble, watched the realization set in.

I was about to close the door.

I took a deep breath, hand on the knob, ready to end this for good.

Derek grabbed my hand, his expression shifting from guilt to anger and confusion.

His grip was tight, almost desperate. His eyes searched mine, pleading.

"Is this necessary, Natalie? If you’re mad because I hit you, I’ll apologize. Don’t you think you’re overreacting?"

His words were sharp, defensive. He still didn’t get it—still thought this was about a single mistake.

"Haven’t you thought about what you’ll do if you regret it later?"

His voice cracked, fear creeping in around the edges. I saw a flash of the boy I used to know, the one afraid of being left behind.

"I won’t regret it."

I said it quietly, but with conviction. I needed him to believe me.

"...Why?" he asked, holding back his anger. "Just because I accidentally slapped you?"

He looked at me like I was a stranger—someone he’d never understood at all.

"Yes, just because of the slap."

I met his eyes, unflinching. The silence between us was final, unbreakable.

"..."

He stood there, speechless. The hallway light flickered overhead.

"Fine, since you insist, have it your way."

He laughed bitterly and slammed the door as he left.

His footsteps echoed down the hall, fading into nothing. I closed the door and slid to the floor, breathing in the silence.