The kind that makes your stomach turn and your soul feel like it’s unraveling.
And then there’s him.Ego.Theo.Whatever the hell his name is.
In this very room with me, wearing that unreadable expression, arms at his sides like he’s waiting for the right moment to step in and fix everything.
I don’t need him to fix anything.
I needed him to tell me.
He had time.
But why did he have to look me in the eyes, and kiss me like I was something precious?Why did he have to touch me like he meant it?Like I mattered.
Maybe that’s the worst lie of all.
Because I wanted to believe him.
I still want to believe him.
I hate that I’m even thinking that, but it’s true.
Every time I close my eyes, I remember the way he held me this morning.
The way he touched me like I was breakable and wild at the same time.
Like I was his.
But I’m not.
Not unless I say so.
And right now?
I don’t know if I want to scream at him or kiss him or shove him out the window.
Maybe all three.
Maybe in that order.
I turn slowly and find him watching me.Still.Quiet.Cautious.
Like I’m the bomb now.
Like I might be the dangerous one in this room.
Maybe I am.
“Don’t just stand there,” I snap.“You wanted a shot?Go ahead.Start talking.All of it.No more secrets.No more ‘you wouldn’t understand’ or ‘I was going to tell you.’Just tell me everything.”
His jaw flexes.He steps forward.
And for a moment, my heart tries to leap before my brain slaps it back down.
Because it doesn’t matter how much I want to believe he’s different.
He lied.
And I don’t know if I can come back from that.
