“Ready to go?” Brooke asks, so casually that it feels like a gut punch.
All the air in Valeria’s lungs leaves her in a sharp exhale, and she can’t form words. She shakes her head and pulls further away from Brooke.
“Why not?” Brooke presses, as if the answer isn’t obvious. As if nothing had happened. The question sinks into her stomach like a stone. Brooke hasn’t thought about how this might have affected her—she probably already dismissed it, writing it off as Valeria being dramatic, the way she always does.
Valeria lifts her wrist, and Brooke rolls her eyes.
“That? Babe, that’s nothing. I held you too hard. I promise I won’t do it again.” She smiles, and the sight of it sends acid rising in Valeria’s throat.
“Go,” Valeria says quietly, her gaze fixed on the shaggy green carpet at the foot of the bed.
“Excuse me?”
“I said go.” Valeria’s tone is soft. She doesn’t have the strength to shout.
Brooke stares at her, baffled, and lets outa soft breath of laughter, as if Valeria said something absurd.
“You’re upset about that?” Brooke lifts Valeria’s wrist and drops it back on her lap. “A scratch?” Her smile is thin and mocking.
Hurt flashes across Valeria’s chest at Brooke’s mocking tone, and her hands curl into fists in her lap. “You hurt me, Brooke. Do you realize that?”
“You’re overreacting.” Brooke pushes to her feet and starts pacing. “Youalwaysdo this, take the smallest thing and twist it around to make me look like the bad guy. I didn’t hit you. Iscratchedyou. By accident, might I add.”
Brooke’s emphasis on “scratched” makes Valeria sick. Like she should be grateful it wasn’t worse. Heat flares low in her gut, anger edging past the nausea until she explodes.
“I don’t care that you think I’m overreacting! Look at my wrists! Look at what you did! It doesn’t matter that it wasn’t a lot. You still did this.” Valeria’s voice cracks into a sob.
Brooke glances down, eyes roaming over the marks on Valeria’s skin, and she frowns. Maybe there’s still a way to save the night, to end this argument and melt into the softness that exists between them. Still, that sliver of hope evaporates as irritation darkens Brooke’s expression.
“God, you’re so sensitive,” she mutters. “I said I won’t do it again. Isn’t that enough? I’m sorry Iaccidentallyhurt you. There. Happy?”
Valeria wraps her arms around herself, her posture collapsing. Feeling hollowed out and exhausted in a way she’s never known.
“Please, Brooke ... ” Her throat tightens, the words trembling as they leave her. “Just go.”
Brooke lets out a laugh stripped of warmth, and the sound scrapes alongValeria’s nerves.
“Let’s talk at home,” Valeria murmurs. “I think we need a moment apart.”
Brooke stares at her, eyes narrowed. “You’re telling me to go?” She studies Valeria in a long, charged silence. Valeria wants to nod, to put her foot down for once, but she’s frozen.
“If I walk out of this room without you, we are done. You hear me? Done. I’m not fucking joking,” Brooke threatens, and it lands just as she meant it because Valeria’s airway constricts at the thought of losing Brooke.
“I’m sorry, baby.” The apology slips out like a knee-jerk reaction. “I just want to talk about this later, after we’ve both had a chance to calm down and rest.”
“Whatever. I’m done.” Brooke snatches her bag from the edge of the bed, and Valeria flinches, worried Brooke’s hands will find her again, but instead the door slams and the crack of it echoes through the room.
Valeria stays glued to the mattress, breath locked somewhere in her chest. A hundred words claw their way up—pleas, explanations, excuses—but none of them matter. Brooke is gone.
“I’m done” loops through Valeria’s mind mercilessly, and her heart tightens around the words.
She looks down at her wrists and shakes her head. The scratches are small, and the blood is already dry. A ripple of doubt moves through her. Maybe Brooke was right, and she overreacted. Brooke hadn’tmeant to hurt her. She knows that. She knows Brooke wouldn’t intentionally cross that line, and now a flush of embarrassment creeps in for letting the moment rattle her so deeply.
Valeria hurries toward the door, hoping to catch Brooke, to call out, to apologize, to pull the night back from the edge. By the time she reaches the front entryway, Brooke’s car isalready backing out of the driveway. Headlights sweep across the walls and vanish. She’s too late.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow, when she gets home, she’ll talk to Brooke. She’ll apologize, and they’ll sort this out, as they always do.
Valeria closes the front door gently, the click of the lock soft in the empty hallway, and walks back to her room. She picks up her phone, her fingers hesitating before she starts typing a message to Brooke.
