Skylar opens the door, then pauses once more. She doesn't look back when she speaks. "I don't know if I can forgive you."
"That's fair. Hopefully, someday you'll see the good in our relationship," I reply.
She takes a deep inhale and steps past the door. It shuts behind her.
I stand there for a long moment, staring at the empty doorway, my pulse loud in my ears. I don't know if that was a warning or a crack in the wall. Maybe Skylar walked out more resolved to end this. Or she might be more afraid of what ending it would do. Either way, I hate the pain I've caused her.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Blue: Green. Demi made me eat toast. Miss you.
Blue: Okay, not a true green, but I really miss you.
Blue: Aren't you proud of me for not manipulating you into coming home?
I smile and sink back into my chair, watching the hourglass. The sand falls steadily, but I'm unable to tell whether time is on our side or simply running out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Blue
Salt & Steel,the cooking show I'm pretending to watch and don't care about, fills the screen. I pull the blanket higher, tucking my legs under it and letting Red's shirt hang off one shoulder just like when he left.
Demi sits beside me, cross-legged, scrolling on her phone and making commentary every thirty seconds, like it's a sport.
"That man just salted after tasting. That's unhinged behavior," she claims.
I snort, but the sound comes out half a second late. Everything I do feels delayed today. My body might as well be running through molasses while my brain sprints in frantic loops.
Demi subtly glances at me. "Still doing okay?"
"Yeah," I assure her, not a total lie or truth either.
My phone's turned face down on the coffee table. I haven't touched it in ten minutes, and my restraint's worthy of a medal.
Red texted me an hour ago.
Red: Green?
I answered no because that's what I was supposed to say. Demi is here, and I'm not bleeding, crying, or actively destroying anything. Over the last month, I've worked hard not to manipulate Red, so I don't want to go backward.
The doorbell rings. The sound punches straight through my chest.
Demi freezes mid-scroll. "Are you expecting someone?"
"No." My stomach drops.
Another ring and a firm knock hit the door.
My skin prickles. A familiar buzzing in my hands occurs, and my body knows who it is before my brain finishes catching up. I stand and state, "I've got it."
Demi watches me closely, her phone forgotten. "Blue?—"
"I've got it," I repeat, firmer, because if I don't say it like that, I might not move at all.
The third knock comes before I reach the door. My father calls, "Blue! Open the door."
I stop with my hand hovering over the lock. My chest tightens, and my breath shallows, like I'm twelve years old again and about to be scolded for something I don't understand but somehow already feel guilty for.
