I sat there, staring ahead, nails digging half-moons into my palms, doing everything I could not to let the flood of hurt spill out in front of him.
When we made this deal, we said if one of us wanted out, we’d walk away.
No questions. No fights.
Maybe this was him walking. Maybe it was me standing still, stupid enough to believe I could ever be loved.
Nick’s hand found mine on the pew, and I flinched before I could stop myself.
“Hey,” he said, voice low and careful, the kind of voice you use with a wounded animal.
“Are you okay?”
He leaned in, close enough that I could smell the clean heat of his skin, the faint trace of coffee on his breath. His fingers squeezed mine, trying to anchor me.
I forced myself to meet his eyes — those perfect green eyes I used to think saw me.
His brows pinched together in concern. He looked at me like I was fragile. Like I was his.
I hated him for it.
I hated myself more for wanting it.
I nodded too fast, the movement jerky and fake.
He searched my face for a second longer, then gave me the mercy of looking away.
I stared straight ahead, hands curled tight in my lap, my throat raw and burning. And as the preacher droned on about sacrifice and love, I sat there punishing myself, one breath at a time, for being dumb enough — desperate enough — to think a man like Nick could ever stay because love wasn’t beautiful. It wasn’t warm or safe.
Love was a lie you swallowed like broken glass, sharp and bleeding all the way down. And I deserved every fucking shard.
I slammed the car door so hard it rattled the frame and shook the mirrors.The sound barely scratched the surface of the noise roaring in my head.
“Mel, wait,” Nick shouted behind me.
I didn’t wait.
I couldn’t.
I needed out of my own skin. I needed keys. I needed liquor. I needed to erase the pathetic girl I saw every time I blinked.I stumbled up the steps, practically ripping the front door off its hinges. The screen slammed behind me, rattling like a gunshot. I threw myself at the kitchen junk drawer, digging through it with shaking hands, my breath coming fast and shallow. If I couldn’t find the keys, I’d settle for divorce papers. If I couldn’t find those, I’d settle for burning the whole fucking house down around us.
“Would you stop and tell me what the hell is going on?” Nick’s hands grabbed my arms, hard enough to make the breath punch out of me.
“Don’t touch me.”The words came out cracked and animalistic.
I tried to jerk away, but he was too strong — too real — and the fury in me snapped like brittle bones under pressure.
“Not until you tell me what’s wrong?”
He demanded it like I owed him something.
The rage flooded up, raw and blood-hot. I lunged and bit his hand, sinking my teeth in deep enough to taste the metallic rush of blood.
He cursed and yanked back, and for one glorious second, I feltpowerful — then the shame came crashing right on top of me, heavier than air.
“I need a drink.”
“No, you don’t,” he snapped as I staggered toward the cabinets, tearing through them with a desperation that felt almost inhuman. Pots clanged to the floor. Drawers slammed against the wall.
