Behind Closed Doors

The street was quiet this time of morning—too early for Roy’s regulars, too late for the party crowd staggering home. Carla stood by the window in her flat above the factory, arms wrapped around herself, half a cup of cold tea on the sill.

Another night with no sleep.

She was getting better—everyone kept telling her that. Progress, they called it. Therapy sessions, meds, “coping mechanisms.” The nightmares weren’t as sharp now, and she no longer jumped at every creak of the floorboards. But the silence? That was harder to shake.

Except when Michelle was there.

Carla hadn’t meant to lean on her. It just happened—like breathing. One minute she was falling apart, the next Michelle was on the phone, at her door, making sure she ate, making sure she slept. Making sure she didn’t disappear.

And now… she was terrified of how much she needed her.

The door buzzed downstairs and Carla startled, sloshing tea onto her sleeve.

Speak of the devil.

She buzzed Michelle up without saying a word. No point pretending she wasn’t home—Michelle always knew.

By the time the door opened, Carla had wiped her arm and composed her face into something resembling human. Michelle stepped in, carrying two paper bags from Roy’s and her usual breezy confidence.

“Thought you might not’ve eaten,” she said, dropping the bags on the table. “And I was in the mood for tea strong enough to melt steel, so here we are.”

Carla managed a smile. It felt awkward on her face.

“You checking in or babysitting?”

Michelle didn’t blink. “Bit of both. Depends if you’ve been a good girl.”

That earned a proper smirk, and Carla hated how warm it made her feel. God, she was pathetic.

Michelle took her usual seat, legs crossed at the knee, stirring sugar into her mug without asking if Carla wanted company. She never asked. She just knew.

“How’s work?” Carla asked, mostly to fill the silence.

Michelle shrugged. “Same old. Robert’s being a tool, but what else is new? You?”

Carla hesitated. Her eyes flicked to the window. “Still standing.”

“Good. That’s all you’ve gotta be some days.”

She looked up then, and Carla’s heart caught in her throat.

Michelle’s eyes were soft—gentle in that way only she could be with her. Everyone else saw Carla as hard-edged, sharp, a businesswoman with a backbone of steel. Michelle saw through all that. And worse, she remembered the girl underneath it—the messy, angry, fiercely loyal one who’d never quite learned how to love properly.

Carla looked away.

She couldn’t keep doing this. Couldn’t keep pretending the ache in her chest wasn’t getting worse. It wasn’t fair—to Michelle, to herself.

But saying it out loud would break everything.

Michelle stood and crossed to the window beside her, sipping her tea. “You’ve got that look again,” she said softly.

“What look?”

“The one that means you’re thinking too much and haven’t slept all night.”

Carla huffed a breath. “You know me too well.”

Michelle bumped her shoulder lightly. “Yeah, and I’m not sorry about it.”

Silence fell again. Comfortable, for Michelle. Torturous, for Carla.

Because standing there, side by side, she wanted to reach out. Just to touch her hand, to lean against her, to feel her warmth and believe, just for a second, that maybe she could have something more.

But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

Instead, she drained her tea and forced a grin. “Thanks for breakfast. You’re a lifesaver.”

Michelle smiled back, wide and unknowing. “Always.”

And Carla knew, with a sick twist in her stomach, that this was going to destroy her.