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She tries to walk past me, but I stop her, placing both hands on her arms.
“You’re not going anywhere until you answer me,” I say firmly. “Come on, Selene. You’re not a child.”
“Let me go, Zayn,” she pleads, her voice shaking.
“Tell me what the fuck is wrong,” I demand again, unable to keep the edge out of my voice.
“You.”
The word rips from her throat as she shoves my hands off her.
She stumbles backward until she’s trapped in the corner beside the makeup vanity.
“You’re what’s fucking wrong with me.”
The accusation in the way she screams those words at me snaps the last thread holding my composure together.
A harsh laugh breaks free from my throat as I take a slow step toward her, and she instinctively retreats until her back meets the wall.
“Me?” I ask, disbelief ripping through every word. “Me, Selene?” My voice rises. “You’re falling apart over a man who’s younger than you and meant nothing?”
I shouldn’t push her any further, not when she’s in this state. She’s crying, barely holding herself together, and instead of comforting her, I’m throwing fuel onto the fire.
But I need answers.
Because right now, none of this makes any damn sense.
She wraps her arms tightly around her waist, turning away from me, her sobs only growing more violent.
I’m beside her in an instant, gently but firmly turning her to face me.
“Answer me.”
She struggles to pull free, twisting beneath my hands. But the fight slowly drains out of her, and she suddenly goes rigid.
“Yes,” she whispers, staring straight into my eyes as tears spill endlessly down her cheeks.
The raw agony written across her face punches the air from my lungs, and I mutter a curse under my breath.
Without thinking, I pull her into my arms. But she doesn’t melt into the embrace, she actually shoves me away with surprising force.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” she cries, stumbling sideways until she reaches the makeup vanity, one hand gripping the edge, her head hanging low.
Her rejection cuts through me, dragging me straight back into the desperation I’ve been trying to bury.
“You fucked him five minutes after I left your room,” I throw back mercilessly. “And now you expect me to believe you’re crying because of me?” A bitter laugh slips out. “I was right there. You rejected me just so you could sleep with someone else.”
The distance between us grows with every word, my voice climbing despite every attempt to control it.
She says nothing.
No denial, no explanation.
Nothing but silence. And it pushes me even further.
“At this point, you probably don’t even know who you’re crying over anymore or why.”
“He’s my fucking friend,” she suddenly screams, spinning to face me. “And he’s gay,” she finishes in a sob-shattered yell, grabbing a bottle of foundation and hurling it in my direction.
