And I’m just… the muse.
I got nothing.
But I also can’t risk Ben filling the silence, dropping pieces of me I’m not ready to hand over.
It’s my say. My mess. My story.
Andrew deserves to hear the whole thing.
I deserve to be the one to tell it.
Not some warped shards or half-truths.
“Ben. Not now, alright?
“You can leave. I’m fine.”
I’m fine.
Two words that taste like shit.
I’mnotfine.
My heart’s breaking my bones,
building a coffin,
clawing at my chest to dig its own grave.
All the eyebrows in the room react to what I said—Andrew’s brows jump. Ben’s brows pinch together.
“You ain’t even gonna say his name?”
Ben asks, half-grinning.
He cuts Andrew a glance, sizing him up.
“Shit, I’m sure he’s got one. Right, bro?”
Andrew's mouth opens?—
“Jesus, Ben,” I step in. “I told you to leave.”
Andrew withdraws.
Whatever he was about to offer,
he folded it up and put it away.
I can’t meet his eyes.
I already feel the difference, and my heart’s tearing into me so fucking hard. She’d rather be buried alive than feel what’s coming.
The color in Ben’s face drains as his gaze slides between Andrew and me, the truth dawning in his cold-blue eyes.
One look is all it takes.
He knows I’d push him out of my life
