Her excuses shouldn’t change anything.
She still chose not to fight for you, the voice in my head hisses.
I snatch the scalpel from the desk. Drive the tip into the surface. The wood groans, leaving a shallow scar, nothing like the one she left on me.
She still chose not to fight for you.
The brush next to it follows suit. I grab it and hurl it at the wall, where it cracks. Drops to the floor.
She still chose not to fight for you.
My head bows low. The studio is silent. Lonely.
Just the ragged sound of my breath, of my broken heart stuttering in my chest.
Just me and the taste of Elowyn’s pussy on my tongue.
She still chose not to fight for you.
I should remember that. Truly.
So why can’t my heart stop hurting for my little moon?
16
DUNCAN
It’s a little before midnight when I take my place in the gallery. Cloaked by shadows, I lean against the wall.
Finally, the worst of this morning has passed.
My pulse has slowed. I don’t need to break anything out of frustration.
The only thing that sticks with me is this insufferable tension. It simmers right beneath the surface as I wait for Elowyn to arrive.
As I think of her incessantly.
The doubts. The confusion. The revenge plan I’m not sure I care for anymore…
All of this is the result of my guilt.
It hurts and, dammit, I deserve that.
The past comes back to me in pieces, reminding me that I played a part in how things fell apart between us too. Distance dulled my concern for her. Her life wasn’t perfect, not even close, and it was like I forgot all about that after the first two years in Jersey.
Rejection cut me deep and I let it distort some of my memories. I did nothing as it messed with my common sense.
If I’d looked closer, if I’d watched her more, I would’ve seen it. The shift in Barclay from belittling to outright bullying. The way gaslighting and manipulation had become second nature to him.
That has to be what happened. There’s no other explanation to how he planted that lie so deep in her head.
“So what?” I grind my teeth. The fabric of my jeans and T-shirt stick to my skin as my muscles pulse. “She could’ve texted. Or called and hung up. Something. I’d have been there in a second. Even less.”
The gallery stays silent in response to my accusations.
My deceitful heart isn’t as quiet.
She thought your kiss disgusted you. That she’d ruined something just by wanting it. That you looked at her like your little goddamn sister. Maybe letting you leave was her way of fixing it.
