“She already ate.”
Yellow-green feline eyes narrow at me threateningly.
I return the stare.
Win toys with her paw.
“Dad loved his cats,” he sighs, his smile tinged with sadness. My chest cramps. He shakes his head, “They weren’t really his, they were just a bunch of strays that hung around our apartment. I swear, he fed them better than me most of the time.”
Sympathies and condolences fill my mouth, but nothing passes my lips. He sets Mitz down, petting her as she weaves between his legs.
“H-How did he—” I stammer uselessly.
The black rings around his irises deepen into a somber vignette. “Pancreatic cancer.”
No matter how much I want to fight it, I can’t help but hurt on behalf of this man who obliterated my heart. He doesn’tdeserve my empathy, yet…
“I’m sorry.”
“I've come to terms with it.”
I meet his mournful gaze. “It’s ok if you haven't. There’s no timeline on grieving.”
“Yeah, tell that to USLA,” he scoffs, sifting through the bag of tools, elegant fingers trembling. “They don’t give a shit that school isn't a priority when your dad is dying.”
My hand shoots to the counter to steady myself, but he doesn’t notice. He’s gritting his teeth, shaking as he meticulously organizes the items needed to install the doorbell.
“Sorry, I’m not helping by unloading all my baggage on you,” he says, tone raw and bitter. I don’t get a chance to protest as he collects the box and instructions. “I promise not to tamper with it… just eat something, ok?”
There’s a noose of bruising agony around my throat.
I nod.
He exits the apartment, closing the door gently. Moments later, a drill whirrs to life. I resume my seat at the counter and force myself to eat.
14
Remy
Six Years Ago
Birthday Voucher: Win will give Remy anything he wants. Anything.
I’ve read it a hundred times— no, athousand—and still can’t make sense of it. I found the wrinkled envelope in the backseat of my Jeep with my name on it after my birthday two days ago.
Win has been radio silent since.
Two. Agonizing. Days.
I debate freaking out on Andrea again. The entire night she'd nudged and teased me in code about my “crush,” who'd become sullen and disassociated as soon as we got to the theater. Of course, I initially accused her of starting shit with him, but she swore repeatedly that she didn’t say anything to piss him off, suggesting that maybe he just didn't like crowded places. I’ve racked my brain for a specific moment, word or look that would've pushed him away, but come up empty over and over.
I haven’t slept.
I haven’t eaten.
His silence screams at all hours.
I can’t let him slip through my fingers. Ican’t.
