Page 18 of Before Dawn

“Oh, I’mveryserious.”

“Are you sure he only said that because you apologized?” My heart pounded. “Why did you even say sorry?”

Mistakes?Every smile, every touch?Bullshit.No way inhell.

“Either way, it’s not that serious,” she said, licking the salt off the rim before downing another shot. “I just didn’t expect that response from him.”

“It’s serious to you,” I pointed out, my voice steady but insistent. “Because you enjoyed the conversation. And you like him.”

“Idon’tlike him,” she shot back, glaring at me. “I’mattractedto him. I think he’s hot.”

I raised a brow. “What’s the difference?”

She groaned, rolling her eyes. “Shut up.” Her voice was sharp, but it lacked any real bite. Then, just like that, she pivoted. Azzaria Willis’ classic deflection.

She tapped her nails against the shot glass, a telltale sign she was about to dodge something uncomfortable. Then, like clockwork—“Why aren’t you doing an internship?”

“I did mine last semester,” I said with a soft laugh despite the tension. “And when I suggested you do the same, you said you had all the time in the world.”

She groaned again, this time at herself. “I can’t believe I said that,” she muttered, taking another sip of her drink. “Anyway, it’s fine. How are you?”

That question, which I’d been dodging since I arrived, now hung between us, unavoidable.

How was I?

Hurt. Broken. Useless. Confused. Anxious.

But I couldn’t say that. Not here. So I took a deep breath, swallowing the truth like a bitter pill. “I’m fine.”

And just like that, I became a hypocrite.

She looked at me, lowering the shot glass from her lips. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t lie to me. So I’ll ask again, how are you?”

I exhaled, feeling the weight of her stare pressing into me. “Confused, mainly,” I admitted, the words leaving me heavier than when I had started.

“About what?” she asked, her tone measured but edged with curiosity, like she already knew the answer but needed me to confirm it.

I hesitated, glancing at her glass, then at the chipped tabletop. “It’s a long story.”

She glanced up at the clock on the wall, then back at me with raised brows and a knowing smirk. “What a relief that time is all we have.”

The corners of my lips twitched at her sarcasm, but the laughter in me was buried under layers of unease. With a deep inhale, I admitted, “It’s Joshua.” The name tumbled out like a stone, sharp and unyielding.

Her posture stiffened, and I saw the beginnings of anger bubbling beneath her calm expression. “What did that little bitch boy do now?”

I let out a hollow laugh, shaking my head. “He’s being… very dictating. And rude,” I muttered, my words reluctant, almost like I didn’t want them to be real. “With the stuff he asks me to do.”

Her brows furrowed instantly. “What kind of stuff?” she pressed, her tone protective but simmering with frustration.

I swallowed hard. My throat felt tight, like the words would suffocate me before I could get them out. “He asked me to send himpictures.”

I tried to sound nonchalant, like it wasn’t as big of a deal as it felt, but my voice betrayed me—shaky, strained.

Her expression darkened. “Wait.Pictures?” she echoed, voice colored with disbelief, tinged with disgust. “Of your p—”

“Yeah.” I spat out bitterly, my lips curling like just the taste of the word was revolting.

Silence stretched between us, thick and heavy.

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