The Silence That Hurts

I still haven’t heard from Vic.

Not even a text. Not even after I apologized for not giving him what he wanted—to make him cum. That silence has been sitting heavy in me ever since. I’ve tried to stay calm. Tried to act like it’s not a big deal. But it is. It hurts more than I want to admit.

Because this was never just about sex.
I wanted to be close to him.
Because it’s always been him.

It’s the way he made me feel. Like I was enough. Like I mattered. Like I was wanted—really wanted. Like I was desired, needed. He touched me like I was something he didn’t want to break. He held me after fucking like I was important. Like I wasn’t just some side piece or random hookup. I’ve never felt that with anyone else. He made me feel safe. Like I was his. Like I belonged to him.

So, when I couldn’t make him cum and he pulled away, it cut deep.
It wasn’t just about not “performing.” It was everything underneath it.
I wanted to matter to him. Even knowing I’d never be anything more than his secret. I still wanted to believe I had a place with him.

He always knew how I felt. Even before anything happened between us, he knew. And I still gave him everything—my time, my body, my heart.
Because no one else made me feel the way he did.
No one else made me feel anything.

Vic wasn’t just a fling. I loved him. Still do.
And now he’s gone.
No explanation. No goodbye.
Just silence.

And I’m stuck here replaying everything—his voice in my ear, his arms around me at night, the way he used to kiss me like he meant it. The way he touched me like I was the only thing that mattered in that moment. I don’t know how to pretend that didn’t mean anything when it meant everything to me.

He used to lie to his wife to spend nights with me. Said he was out with friends, but really, he was wrapped around me. And I let myself believe that had to mean something. That maybe I wasn’t just a place to land. But now? I don’t know.
Maybe I was just a warm body. An escape.

I keep trying to tell myself his silence is just a phase. That he’ll text. That he’ll say something—anything. But deep down, I know. He’s done.
And it’s not just his silence I’m sitting with.
I’m also dealing with someone else I love who’s not speaking to me.
Another silence. Another fracture.
And honestly, I don’t know how much more of this I can carry.

I’ve cried every night since I last heard from Vic.
Not because I’m weak.
But because losing someone who’s still alive, who just chooses not to talk to you anymore, is a different kind of pain.

And yeah, I slept with someone else recently.
But it didn’t mean anything.
It wasn’t Vic.

There are moments where I imagine my phone left unlocked and unattended.
A friend knows what I’ve been going through, finds Vic’s number, and decides to text him from their phone.
“Hey, she’s not okay. This is destroying her.”
But I won’t let that happen.
Because Vic is mine to carry.
My mistake.
My consequence.
I got myself into this on my own, and I’ll get out of it on my own.

Because no matter how much I wanted it to be different, he never really cared about me the way I cared about him.
I knew he wasn’t going to leave her.
And even if he did… deep down, I’ve always wondered if he’d end up doing to me what we did to her.

And now I know the answer.
He’s hurting her.
And he’s hurting me too.

— A heartbroken woman just trying to survive it