My eyes start to sting from the frustration of not knowing anything. Adrien winces, as if I insulted a spouse.
“Hey, don’t talk about my man like that, he has a heart.” He pauses and frowns at me. “It might have stopped beating six years ago but, you know, it’s still there.”
He puffs out the smoke as he leans his head back against the sofa, completely at ease. He looks so unbothered and unserious. It’s irritating and calming at the same time. Like none of this matters. Like I’m not standing here, trying to understand what kind of place I woke up in.
I freeze on the spot.
What did he mean by that?
Six years ago.
Does he know about the murder six years ago? Flashbacks run through my mind but I quickly suppress them.
My gaze drops without thinking—down, to where his shirt has shifted slightly as he leans back. And then I see it.
Black metal.
Tucked behind his belt.
Right there.
Gun.
The room, the light, the sound, it all dulls, like someone turned the volume of the world down. My eyes stay locked on it, unable to look away, like if I do, it might disappear. And suddenly everything clicks into place in the worst possible way.
This isn’t a misunderstanding. This isn’t some weird coincidence. This isn’t something I can just talk my way out of.
My chest tightens, something sharp pressing against my ribs from the inside, and I realize too late that my vision is blurring as tears start spilling down my face. I didn’t even realize how many had already pooled in my eyes.
I drag my hands up to my face quickly, wiping at them like I can erase the reaction before it fully happens, before he sees it.
He turns his head toward me, still leaning back, and for the first time since I walked in, something shifts in his expression. He sits up immediately. The cigarette disappears into the ashtray, crushed out in one sharp movement, like it suddenly matters.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and there’s something off about it now. Something almost uncertain. “I’m sort of an idiot.”
He lets out a short, awkward breath, like he’s trying to pass it off as a joke, but it doesn’t land. Not even close. I can’t even look at him. My hands are still pressed to my face, my breathing uneven, my thoughts slipping through my fingers faster than I can catch them.
This is real.
This is actually happening.
He shifts his weight, glancing at me again, and whatever he sees makes him hesitate.
“I’ll go,” he mumbles after a second, quieter now.
And then he’s gone. The door closes softly behind him.
The second I’m alone, everything crashes. My knees give out before I can stop them and I hit the floor, my hands falling from my face as the tears finally break through properly. I fold into myself, pressing my palms against my eyes, like I can hold everything in if I just try hard enough.
I’m so fucking stupid. I thought I could handle this. I thought I could find him and control the situation somehow. Like this was a story I was writing, not something I got dragged into. My breath shakes as it leaves me, uneven, sharp, impossible to steady.
What the hell did I walk into? What is this place? And what is he going to do to me? I thought I could find him and—
What was I thinking? I had this coming.
?
I don’t know how long I sit there.
