“So where was fate in all of that?” Austin asked quietly. “Nowhere. And where was fate for me? Nowhere.” His voice fractured. “Because I know what I did. Maybe the police don’t, but I do. I know exactly what I did, and I’ll live with that for the rest of my life.” He finally took a breath, ragged and desperate, like the story itself had been suffocating him.
“And that’s what happened,” he said. “That’s how bad of a person I am, Blair.” He shook his head slowly. “I told you before—the things I’ve done. The person I was. I was a bad person.” His voice softened. “But like I said… you’ve changed me. And I don’t know if I’m a bad person anymore. Not because of anything I did. Because of you.”
He went still then, his chest rising and falling as he looked at me. He was waiting. Waiting for my forgiveness. Or my rejection. And I gave him neither. We stood there in silence, the moment stretching unnaturally long, frozen in place. He watched me like he was bracing for impact, like any response would finally break something open. But I didn’t have one to give him.
“Can you take me home?” I asked at last. My voice was the only sound cutting through the warm summer air, and it sounded wrong—flat and distant, chilling in its calm.
Austin looked at me with something like defeat. He didn’t speak. He just stared, searching my face, as if he’d known the words were coming but hadn’t been prepared for how badly they would still hurt. After a few seconds, he nodded. I didn’t look back at him. I turned and walked away, opened the passenger door, and slid inside. I shut it quietly and waited—waiting for the car to move, waiting for the weight of the conversation to finally settle into my bones, waiting for whatever came next.
Because simply… it wouldn’t. I heard his words, of course. How could I not? I understood what had happened. I could see it in my mind, frame by frame, but it wouldn’t settle. It wouldn’t stay. It felt unreal, like a far-fetched lie told just to disorient me. But I knew it wasn’t. I knew it wasn’t a lie. The truth had been in Austin’s eyes, bright and undeniable, like the fireworks he once set off just for me. It was there. Clear. Unavoidable. So why couldn’t I accept it?
The drive to my house was silent. Neither of us spoke. I didn’t move, not even an inch, and I had the strange feeling that if Austin hadn’t been driving, he wouldn’t have moved either. When he pulled up beside my house, the moment the car stopped, I got out. I didn’t look back at him as I walked to the door. I didn’t look at anything except my feet. It felt like I washolding one single breath in my chest, choking on the air the same way I was choking on everything he’d just poured into me.
The house was asleep when I stepped inside. Quiet. Still. Nothing like my mind. My thoughts weren’t even words anymore. They weren’t in any language I knew. They flashed colors that didn’t exist, collided without meaning, and refused to slow down. I went straight to my room and crossed to my dresser, pulling open the first drawer. I pushed aside folded clothes, searching for what I knew was there.Keep it safe, he had said. Keep it to remind you of me.My fingers closed around the pink stone, cool and solid in my palm. I turned it over and over, like it might change if I stared at it long enough. Like it might become something else. Another color. Another shape. Another meaning.
But it didn’t. I let out a short, shallow breath and curled my fingers around it. The edges pressed into my skin, sharp enough to hurt, and I welcomed it. I crossed the room to the window, struggling to open it with one hand, refusing to let go of the stone with the other. When the lock finally gave, I shoved the window open wide. Night air rushed in, clean and cold, mixing with the stale air trapped inside my room.
I opened my hand and looked at the stone one last time.
Then I threw it out the window.
15
I couldn’t escape his words.
I couldn’t escape Austin’s words.
They were in my head. They lived there now, like a piece of music you can’t turn off once it starts. They echoed. They rumbled. They were deafening.
I heard them when I slept. I heard them when I was awake. I heard them even when I begged not to. But my brain didn’t listen. It never did.
I couldn’t escape them.
9:34 a.m.
1/2 cup carrots. 26.
But fate? Blair, that’s crap.
Was it?
Was it crap? Was it pretend? Was it imaginary? Was it just a dull, comforting thought I clung to because it made things easier?
Did it mean anything at all?
Did anything?
12:15 p.m.
1 boiled egg. 78.
1/2 apple. 36.
It’s crap.
Is it?
2:23 p.m.
