His breath shakes.
“You don’t care, Lex. You just want to control everything. Including me.”
“That’s not—”
“And why? Why does it matter what I’m wearing? It’s not like you’re my—”
He stops.
The silence swallows the space between us.
He looks like he wants to shove the words back into his mouth but it’s too late.
My chest tightens—physically tightens—because I didn’t know one sentence could hit me like a bullet.
It’s not like you’re my boyfriend.
I don’t know what I look like at that moment, but it must be bad, because Jamie’s face softens instantly.
“Lex…” he whispers, voice trembling.
“I—I didn’t mean— I’m sorry.”
I can’t speak.
If I open my mouth, everything will come out—every feeling, every fear, everypossessive thought—and I can’t do that to him. Not when we’re already broken.
I swallow hard, forcing my face blank.
Jamie steps back like he’s afraid I’ll get closer.
“I’m sorry,” he says again, barely audible.
Then he grabs his jacket, pushes past me, and walks out the door.
The click of the lock is deafening.
I don’t move. I don’t breathe.
I just stand there, staring at the door he disappeared through, wondering how the hell I’m supposed to let him go out dressed like that, angry at me, thinking I don’t want him—
When all I want is him.
****
Twenty minutes.
Twenty fucking minutes since Jamie walked out of the apartment in that ridiculous excuse of a costume, throwing those last words at me like knives.
“It’s not like you’re my boyfriend.”
He didn’t mean to say it, but he did. And it shouldn’t matter.
But it did. It still does. It’s sitting in my chest like shrapnel.
I pace my room, staring at the black duffel bag shoved under my bed—the one that holds the mask, the gloves, the hoodie.
My other self.
