He regrets us.
It was too much.Tangled up with violence and grief and things I don’t understand about his past.
My stomach plummets, leaving a hollow, aching void.
I drop my gaze instantly, afraid he’ll see the sudden sting behind my eyes.Afraid he’ll see my fragile composure crumbling.I stare fixedly at the dark coffee, wrapping my trembling hand around the ceramic warmth, needing something to hold on to.
“It’s okay.”I try swallowing the lump in my throat, striving for a neutral tone to mirror his.“I understand.”
Liar.
I understand nothing except this crushing disappointment.
The silence stretches again.I hear him shift in his chair.Risking a quick glance through my lashes, I see he is looking at me.His brow is furrowed slightly, his expression a blend of confusion and concern.
“Amy…” He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table.
His gaze searches mine, demanding I look up properly.
“It wasn’t right,” he clarifies.“You shouldn’t have seen any of it.”He shakes his head, looking down at his hands clasped tightly around his mug.“The things I said… I did…” He looks up again.I can see the deep shame swimming in his green eyes, unshielded and painful to witness.
The knot of confusion doesn’t dissolve; it settles deeper.Heavy and suffocating.
Did it mean nothing?
Was it all just… a reaction?
A mistake?
I stare down into my mug, tracing the rim with my fingertip.
The questions claw their way up my throat.
What was last night, Matthew?
Do you regret touching me?
Why did you leave me alone in your bed this morning?
But they die there.Unspoken.Choked back by the fortress walls he’s so rapidly rebuilt around himself.By the crippling fear of hearing an answer that would shatter me completely.
The silence stretches again, thick and brittle with avoidance.
Across the table, Matthew’s controlled posture seems uncomfortable now, restlessness radiating from him.He picks up his mug but sets it down without drinking, running a hand distractedly over his jaw.For the longest moment, he seems unwilling to meet my gaze, staring instead at the counter beyond me.
When he finally looks back at me, his expression is shuttered.It’s as if he’s made a conscious decision to step back from the emotional precipice.
He clears his throat, the sound loud in the stillness.
When he speaks again, his voice is carefully modulated, all business.“So, this Friday night…” He leans back slightly in his chair, eyes meeting mine, but the look is searching in a different way now.“Hydra.Have you…” He pauses, as if bracing himself.“Have you figured out your plan with James?”
That’s it?
He’s just moving on?
The shift in topic sends my mind into a tailspin, like hitting a patch of black ice.
“I’m crashing and burning gloriously as it is.”I force a smile to match the breezy tone I’m aiming for.“Why stop now, right?”
