The only light was the dim bedside lamp, glowing against her face. She looked… fragile. Too fragile for someone who’d fought this hard for months.
I sat on the floor beside the bed, back against the bedside table, and just stared.
Her cast was still damp; the white turned grey where the water had soaked in. I’d have to fix that tomorrow. Her hair was dry now, the strands curling slightly from the heat. Her cheeks were pale, so pale.
All because of me.
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, hands covering my face.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered into my palms. “God, I’m so fucking sorry.”
She didn’t move.
Water kept dripping from my sleeves, little droplets hitting the floor like a slow clock.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Every drop sounded like guilt, steady and inescapable.
I looked up again, watching the way her fingers twitched under the blanket, probably from a dream.
Or maybe a memory.
Maybe she was dreaming about the pool, or the ball, or every cruel word I’d thrown at her since she arrived here.
I used to think I didn’t care what people thought of me. That their opinions didn’t mean anything. But seeing her like this because of me…
I’ve never wanted to be someone else more in my life.
Someone kinder.
Someone she could’ve trusted.
I stayed there until the clock struck midnight.
And I still couldn’t move.
The sound of her breathing was the only thing keeping me anchored, reminding me that despite everything I’d done, she was still here.
For now.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Aurora
The room was still dim when I opened my eyes.
For a second, I didn’t know where I was. The sheets under me were soft, warm, too warm. The scent in the air was faintly familiar. Soap. Mint. Something sharp and clean that wasn’t mine.
Then I turned my head.
Joshua.
He was on the floor.
Head resting against the edge of the bedside table, one arm bent awkwardly, still dressed in the same clothes he’d worn last night. Still wet. His shirt clung to his shoulders, his sweatpants dark and stiff with dried water.
He didn’t even move when I shifted.
