“I just need time, and space. I need to be alone, to work on myself properly.”
The unspoken words pass between us the moment we stare at each other through the silence. The recognition lodges deep within his gaze, and I know I’ve hurt him.
We may never be able to come back from this.
I can’t risk dragging him along with me, wasting years of his life for me to never get better. Because being happy seems like it’s no longer within my reach.
I need to work on myself until I’m strong enough to fight back the walls that are constantly caving in on me.
“I’m sorry, Saint,” I breathe, and my shaky hand reaches for his.
He warily takes it, his thumb trembling as it brushes over my knuckles, and he stares down at where we’re joined. The sensation rushes straight to my chest, and I struggle to take in a breath, the thought of losing this, but it’s for the best right now.
The muscles in his jaw flex, and I watch him force down a swallow, his eyes almost bulging as he fights whatever’s bursting inside him.
“If letting you go means that it helps you, and it’s what you want, then…” He clears his throat, casting his eyes to the ground. “I’ll be there when you’re ready.”
He stands, our hands slowly slipping apart.
“I’ll always love you, Indie. No matter what. This doesn’t change anything for me. It never will. I’ll wait for you.”
The last time we sat on these swings, we held hands whilst the sun beat down on us on a warm summer night.
The tears were from laughter; the twinges in my chest were from butterflies.
The look I gave him was because I wanted to stay in that moment forever.
Now, it will always be tainted by this.
The rain grows heavier. My nails dig painfully into my thighs as he turns and walks away, his broad figure no longer visible as tears glass over my eyes.
And when the sob rips free, I allow it.
22
Indie
EYES ON YOU - Vanna Rainelle
Present day
Irakethroughmywardrobe, throwing on a pair of leggings and a quarter-zip hoodie.
My legs are trembling as I head over to my bed to shove my high-tops on, still dealing with the aftershock of my encounter with Saint. It’s so vastly different from our last.
His words just minutes ago still echo around the room.
Kill one of his team?
I’ve always known he had a darker side; there was no faking the way shadows lurked behind the depths of his eyes, weaved themself in the way he held himself.
Now it’s almost pitch black.
He knows something about Sumus, and apparently some other group of dangerous individuals.
I have a thumping headache.
Once I tie my laces, which takes at least two attempts, I walk towards the window, my gun catching my eye as it still rests on the pillow.
