A truth I’m not ready for:
“I’m coming back for you.” Heat prickles down the back of my neck. “Not because of the voicemail.” His voice hardens. “Because I was always going to.”
My pulse slams.
The room spins.
“And next time?” A rough exhale. “You won’t be drunk.” My hand shakes violently. “You’re going to look me in the eyes, sober, awake, aware…” I choke on a breath. “…and say every fucking word again.”
The voicemail ends.
The silence afterward is so heavy it feels alive.
Thick.
Suffocating.
Hot against my skin.
I stare at the phone until the screen goes black.
My heartbeat thunders so loudly I think the neighbours could hear it.
My throat burns.
My body shakes.
My lip throbs where he bit it.
And I realise—There’s no undoing this.
No pretending.
No convincing myself it was a dream.
Kai was here.
Kai touched me.
Kai heard everything I just confessed.
And Kai is coming back.
I don’t save it.
I don’t delete it.
I just stare at the screen like it’s a loaded gun pointed straight at my chest.
My pulse thunders.
My breath fractures.
My whole body feels like it’s made of glass—thin, fragile, trembling hard enough to crack.
I set the phone on the sofa cushion beside me.
My hand stays hovering over it.
