Page 111 of Cold Mercy

I walk into the bathroom to finally shave. For the first time in months, I look like a human being instead of a feral, guilt-ridden animal who forgot mirrors existed. Downstairs, the house is still quiet. I grab her mug, fill it with black tea, two spoons of sugar, a squeeze of lemon. Beside the stove sits a notebook and a pen, so I take those too, tuck them under my arm, and head upstairs.

She’s still asleep. I set the mug gently on her nightstand, right next to the bracelet. I don’t know why she kept it, I have no right to wonder. But it hits me anyway. I still keep the watch she gave me, maybe we’re both hypocrites.

I pull a pack of paracetamol from my bag and leave a single pill beside the mug. Then I open the notebook, tear out a page, and write:

One pill in case your head still hurts after listening to me talk last night.

Today’s two facts:

1) I sleep better knowing you’re in the same room.

2) I want to deserve the version of myself you once believed I could be.

It’s pathetic, it’s too much, and at the same time, it's not enough.

But it’s all I can give her without ruining everything. I leave the note where she’ll find it and force myself out of the room before I wake her.

Outside, the air is warm, the lake mist still clinging to the trees. I haven’t run in months. My chest burns, my legs shake, but my mind clears with every brutal stride. I make only one decision, but I make it completely.

I’m done running from her. If she leaves, I’ll follow. If she fights, I’ll fight back harder. If she thinks she’s unlovable, I’ll prove her wrong every damn day.

By the time I get back, the house is alive with noise. Laughter from the kitchen, footsteps overhead, chairs scraping as people gather for breakfast. Elizabeth spots me first and waves me over with her sun-bright smile.

“We’re all eating together,” she calls. “Come join us!”

But my eyes slide past her, over her shoulder, to them. Sophia and Charles are sitting in the same seats as last night, his arm draped casually along the back of her chair, her shoulder brushing his with every small movement. My jaw clenches so hard I feel the bone crack.

I force a thin smile for Elizabeth, lean in, and give her a quick hug.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll join you, just need a quick shower.”

She blinks in surprise. “A hug? God, it’s good to see you alive for once.”

We all sit in the same seats as last night, fate’s idea of a joke. Sophia is directly across from me. If the unhinged Thomas were here, I’d break every one of his fucking fingers for touching her.

But I breathe, barely.

Then she looks up at me, and the force of her gaze hits me so hard I forget to breathe.

“You shaved,” she says loud enough for the whole table to hear. “You look…a little less like shit.”

For half a second, I’m too stunned to react. She drops her gaze, stabbing at her food like she just delivered the punchline of the century, pride glinting in her eyes.

And then I see it, and my breath stumbles in my chest. The silver bracelet I gave her, wrapped snugly around her wrist as if it's always been there.

“Nice bracelet, Soph,” I murmur, nodding toward her hand.

Her smile twitches instantly, caught. She curls her fingers, dragging her hand off the table as if she can hide it from me, then sends me one quick look.

She turns back to her conversation with one of Elizabeth’s friends, leaving me with the ghost of that look burning through my chest.

Charles's gaze is on me now, sharp and assessing, like he’s trying to decide whether to break my jaw, break my neck, or simply drag her out of the room to keep me away.

If he tries either of the first two, he won’t be the one walking away from this table.

Before I can make sense of the look she gave me, a knock hits the doorframe.

Everyone turns as a girl steps inside. Young, bright smile, hair in a messy blonde braid, wearing leggings and a university hoodie like she sprinted in from a different world entirely.