By evening, the tension is unbearable.
He's sitting in the armchair across from me, staring into the flames. The firelight plays across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the shadows beneath his cheekbones. He looks tired and worried.
"What are you thinking about?"
His voice startles me. I look up from my book and find his dark eyes fixed on my face with that intensity that always makes my stomach flip.
“Nothing.”
"Liar." But he says it gently, without accusation. "You've been somewhere else all day. Tell me."
I close the book and set it aside. The fire crackles. Snow taps against the windows.
"I'm thinking about the last time I trusted someone," I say quietly. "And how badly it ended."
Phoenix doesn't respond. Just waits, giving me space to continue.
"His name was David." The name tastes bitter on my tongue, even after all this time. "David Chriton. We were together for three years. Two in college, one after."
"What happened?"
I pull my knees up to my chest, making myself small. The memories are sharp even now, edged with a pain that never quite faded.
"Everyone loved him. He was charming and funny and attentive, and I thought he was perfect." I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "I thought I was going to marry him."
Phoenix is very still, his eyes never leaving my face.
"He cheated on me," I continue. "For six months. With my roommate. The whole time, he was telling me he loved me, making plans for our future, talking about moving in together after graduation. And every time I left for class or went to work, he was in our apartment with her."
"How did you find out?"
I close my eyes. The memory is still vivid, seared into my mind.
"I came home early from work one day. Wasn't feeling well." My voice is steady, but my hands are shaking. "I walked into ourbedroom and found them together. They were in our bed, the one we'd picked out together at IKEA, the one he'd complained about assembling for hours."
Phoenix's jaw tightens. I see his hands curl into fists on the armrests of his chair.
"What did you do?"
"I left." The words come out flat, emotionless. “I didn't scream, didn't cry, didn't throw things. I just turned around and walked out. Packed a bag while they scrambled to get dressed, and I left. Moved in with my mom that night."
"Did he try to explain?"
"He tried everything. Called me a hundred times. Showed up at my mom's house with flowers. Sent long emails about how it didn't mean anything, how he still loved me, how we could work through it." I shake my head. "Like I was supposed to just forgive him. Like three years together meant I owed him another chance."
"You didn't owe him anything."
"I know that now. But back then, I felt like such an idiot. Everyone kept asking what I did wrong, what I could have done differently. Like it was somehow my fault he couldn't keep his dick in his pants."
The bitterness in my voice surprises even me. I thought I was over this. Thought the wound had scarred over and healed. But sitting here, in this cabin, with this man who's lied to me in his own ways, it all comes rushing back.
"I crashed on my mom's couch for three months," I say. “I couldn't afford my own place, couldn't bear to stay in the apartment we'd shared. I just existed for a while. Got up, went to work, came home, cried myself to sleep."
"I'm sorry." Phoenix's voice is rough. "That you went through that."
"I swore I'd never let another man make a fool of me again." I finally meet his eyes. "I promised myself that I'd never be that stupid, that naive, that trusting."
Silence stretches between us. The fire crackles. The storm howls.
