at the door,
at the version of us that almost happened.
“Yeah, okay. Should’ve fuckin’ known?—”
He stops himself.
Eyes sliding back to mine.
Nods once,
trying to beat the ache to the surface.
“Yeah... it’s whatever you want,” he says again. “Even if it’s only tonight. You got me.”
He scoffs, shaking his head.
But it’s not cruel, it’s ruined.
“Everything happens for a reason, right?”
My chest jumps back. My body doesn’t move.
That’s the worst kind of flinch,
when no one can see it but you.
Because we ripped that line apart earlier.
Mocked it. Spit on it. Called it what it was:
a pretty lie people tell themselves
when the truth is too ugly.
And now he’s giving it back to me.
Not to make me feel better or give me an out,
but to say—This fucking sucks.
This is the opposite of what I want,
but you leave me no fuckin’ choice.
He pushes off the shelf,
never letting go of my hand.
“C’mon,” I say,
pulling him down an aisle,
past the rope, where it’s off-limits,
down a narrow flight of spiral stairs,
to the basement,
