“No.”
“I am not asking you to come to me,” I assured, though every word scraped through me because I wanted exactly that. “I am asking you to move away from the edge.”
His eyes darted toward the darkness behind him, then back to me, wild and wet and disbelieving.
“I—I don’t trust you.”
“I know,” I said, the truth of it killing me.
His mouth trembled. “I trusted you.”
I took another small step while he was speaking, slow enough that the movement could be mistaken for shifting my weight.
“I know,” I repeated.
“You made me feel safe here.”
“You are safe here.”
“You don’t get to say that.” His voice broke entirely then, grief and anger tangling until the words came out ragged. “Youdon’t get to say that when there’s a fucking—a fucking dead person in there!”
I moved another fraction closer.
The house lights caught in his eyes. His attention stayed fixed on my face, which was good and bad at once. Good, because he was not looking down. Bad, because he could see every movement I made if I misjudged the timing.
“I understand what you saw.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I understand why you’re afraid.”
“No, you don’t,” he said again, louder now, shaking his head as more tears spilled down his face. “Because if you understood, you wouldn’t be acting like this is something you can explain.”
I continued forward, one small step at a time, using the sound of the waves to hide the soft placement of my shoes on stone.
“I can explain what matters.”
“What matters?” he echoed. “What matters is that you killed someone!”
“What matters to me is that I will not kill you.”
His face crumpled. “Oh, my God.”
“I would never hurt you.”
“You chased me!”
“Because you ran toward the cliff.”
“Only because you murdered someone!”
“I know,” I said sadly, because denial was useless and honesty was the last damaged tool left to me. “And because I murdered someone, I cannot allow you to leave tonight.”
I saw it happen as his fear, already high, sharpened into something brighter and even more dangerous.
“W-what?” he stuttered.
I cursed myself silently.
