The second one hurt more.
Because I had.
Again.
Even after hearing Destiny’s confession. Even after waking up with her voice inside me. Even after my body proved in themost humiliating way possible that every coal I thought I had smothered was still burning.
I had chosen Georgia.
Out loud.
With intention.
Because guilt was a powerful architect, and I had been building cages out of it for years.
“Then don’t look at me like that,” Destiny said.
My voice dropped before I could stop it.
“How am I looking at you?”
She didn’t answer right away.
Her eyes came back to mine, and for a second, I could see every answer she refused to give me.
Like you want me.
Like you remember.
Like you’re angry another man saw me.
Like you forgot she exists.
Like you think I’m yours.
She reached for the tablet instead.
“Like you’re going to make both of us worse,” she said.
That one landed in the center of me.
Because yes.
That was exactly what I was doing.
Making Georgia worse.
Making Destiny worse.
Making myself worse.
All because I couldn’t be honest enough to choose cleanly or strong enough to stop wanting.
She finished the vitals and stepped back.
“I’ll let your nurse know your pain is increasing.”
“Destiny.”
