I stopped breathing. “Aura.”
“Don’t.” The word cracked, a dam breaking on a single syllable.
Every cruel, righteous thought in my head stumbled and died at the sound. She clutched her hand to her chest like it was a life preserver and let out a breath that shattered on the exhale. It wasn’t a cry. It was the sound of something vital breaking.
I had seen Aura be a lot of things. A razor blade. A fortress. A fucking queen on a hill of scorched earth. I had seen her weaponize her tears into contempt. I had never seen the weapon drop from her hands like this, leaving her empty and defenseless.
“Don’t be nice now,” she said to the wall, her voice thick and muffled. “I can’t handle you being nice after telling me to go.”
My jaw ached from clenching. “I’m not being nice.”
“You said my name.”
“That’s not nice.”
“It is from you.”
Fuck. The word was a bomb detonating silently in my chest. I looked away, but my shitty apartment offered no refuge. The water stain on the ceiling, the crooked lamp, the scuffed floorboards, the coffee table sitting wrong in the middle of the room like a witness to our war. It was all evidence in a trial where we were both guilty.
She dragged in another breath, and this one didn’t even try to become anger. It just dissolved into a wretched, honest truth. “I have been so lost.”
I shut my eyes. “Aura.”
“I have.” Her voice gained strength, the softness burning away into a desperate ember. “Since that night in your room. Since you looked at me like you finally saw the rotting core of me and told me you were done.”
My eyes flew open. “You made me beg.”
“I know.”
“You made me feel pathetic for wanting you.”
“I know.”
“Then you don’t get to cry because I finally stopped letting you carve that feeling into my bones.”
She turned. The tears weren’t gentle. They were furious, messy tracks through the remnants of her makeup, and she looked humiliated by them, betrayed by her own body’s weakness in front of me. “I’m not crying because you stopped,” she shouted, the sound raw and ragged. “I’m crying because I never meant to hurt you. Not like that. Not in a way that stuck.”
A mean, hollow laugh escaped me. I needed its bitterness. “Could’ve fooled me. You had a real fucking knack for it.”
Her face contorted. “I was scared.”
“You’re always scared when the bill comes due, Aura. When you actually have to look at the damage.”
“Fuck you, Easton.”
“Yeah,” I snarled, taking a step forward. “We just did. And it was just as fucking toxic as the rest of this.”
She flinched. Actually flinched. And the spark of regret was so immediate, so acidic, it burned my throat. But I held my ground. She didn’t get to use her pain as a universal absolution. Not this time.
She wiped her face with a rough, angry hand, smearing black under her eye. “I deserved that.”
“Stop it,” I hissed. “Just stop. Don’t perform your guilt for me. Don’t tell me what you deserve so I have to be the asshole who agrees.”
Her mouth snapped shut. I saw the fight in her, the urge to lash out, to rebuild the walls. But for once, she didn’t. She just stood there, trembling with her purse clutched in her arms, waiting.
I leaned back against the arm of the couch, crossing my arms so tightly I felt my own heartbeat in my biceps and the complaint of every bruise Maddox had managed to leave. “You said you were scared. Fine. The floor is yours. For once in your fucking life, give me the truth without making me bleed for every syllable. Say it. All of it.”
The rain was the only sound for a long moment. Then, a ragged inhale.
