“I’m sorry,” I say.
The words feel too small, too fucking weak.
He looks away.
“I know you are. But that doesn’t undo it.”
There’s a long pause. A painful one.
Then Jamie asks, almost too casually, “Are you going to that Halloween party tonight?”
I blink.
“I don’t know. Maybe. Why?”
“No reason.”
He shrugs, pretending not to care.
“Just checking.”
I study him, trying to decode what he’s not saying.
He won’t meet my gaze. His fingers twist the edge of his blanket. He’s hurting. And I did it.
“We wouldn’t be able to be together there anyway,” Jamie murmurs.
“So it doesn’t matter if you go or not.”
Something inside me twists so sharply I have to step back.
I want to stay.
I want to fix this.
I want to touch him and tell him he’s the last thing on earth I think is pathetic.
But he doesn’t look at me.
And I don’t deserve to stay.
So I turn around, hand on the doorknob.
I don’t say a word.
I leave.
****
I hear him before I see him.
Drawers opening. Closet doors sliding. The soft thump of shoes on the floor.
Jamie never gets ready quietly—he hums under his breath, curses when his hair won’t sit right, mutters song lyrics.
It used to annoy me.
Now it’s the only damn sound in this house that makes the place feel alive.
