Joshua / Aurora
Joshua
Back to this hellhole.
I wanted to skip today because I didn’t want to leave Honey. I didn’t want to leave her alone, and I didn’t have the energy. But I skipped a lot already.
The air was sharp, cold, but not enough to numb the noise in my head. I’d been walking toward the field, same routine as always, backpack slung over my shoulder, hoodie pulled up, trying not to think about anything at all.
But of course, fate had other plans.
Because there they were—Aly, Jennie, and Layla—standing by the bleachers as if they’d been waiting for me.
The second their eyes met mine, I knew.
Something was coming.
They didn’t even hesitate. The three of them walked straight toward me, their faces tight with guilt, their steps too quick. And before I could even open my mouth, all three spoke at once.
“We’re sorry.”
I stopped walking. The word sorry echoed once, twice, and then kept repeating between them like they were racing to get it out first.
They talked over each other, stumbling through half-apologies and explanations. Aly tried to lead, Jennie’s voice cracked, and even Layla, the calmest one, looked shaken. And she didn’t even spit cruel words at me; she was honest.
“Joshua, we were wrong,” Aly said, her tone fast, desperate. “We thought you were still hurting her—”
“But you weren’t,” Jennie added quickly.
Layla took a breath. “We pushed you away. We said things we shouldn’t have. Aurora, she—”
That name hit harder than all their words combined.
Aurora.
They kept talking. Their voices blurred together, something about how Aurora didn’t know the girls pushed me away, how she was broken when I left, how Aly told her the truth.
But I didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t breathe properly either.
Because all I could see was her face that night at my door. The box of cookies in her hands. The soft“Happy Valenti—”before I shattered everything.
And I remembered every tear I didn’t wipe away.
When they finally stopped talking, the silence that followed was suffocating. The three of them looked at me, waiting, hoping for me to say something, anything.
But what was there left to say? The damage had been done. I hurt her; I had no right to walk back as if I didn’t do that. Because I did.
I slammed that door in her damn face.
Idid.
I shoved my hands into my pockets and stared at the ground. “You don’t have to apologise,” I said flatly. “You were right.”
Aly frowned. “Joshua—”
