Page 175 of The Bittersweet Bond

She pulled away from the window, climbed back into bed, and tugged the blanket over her knees. Her phone sat on the nightstand, silent, untouched.

The past few hours had felt like one endless nightmare. Sergej, the fight, the stares. And Bas—with blood on his shirt, with those eyes that knew everything about her now. She didn’t want to think about it, but the images kept coming back.

Why hasn’t he texted me?

The thought was so quiet she almost missed it, but it was there. She bit her lip.

Because he changed his mind. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want me. Why would he?

Her phone vibrated. A message.

Her heart stopped for a second, but as she read the words, everything inside her tightened.

Evin read it twice. Then a third time.

Last night was too much. He wanted to see you this morning, but couldn't get it together?

She threw the phone onto the mattress and buried her face in her hands.

He wanted to. But he didn’t. Because he changed his mind. Because I’m damaged goods now.

The tears didn’t come. They had already dried up, like a riverbed left to crack in the sun.

All that was left was the sharp, cold blade of anger.

She reached for her phone, opened the message, and started typing. Her fingers trembled, but she hit "Send" before she could change her mind:

Evin

No problem. I’m on my way to training.

Nobody needed to meet up with her out of pity.

She dropped the phone, lay back down, and stared at the ceiling.

Evin

Let's just forget get about it.

Now he can finally be done with me.

__________

Evin shoved open the heavy door of the ballet studio, letting it slam shut behind her with a loud bang.

The room was silent—so quiet that her own breath echoed against the empty walls. The mirrors reflected her back at herself, an exact image, yet she barely recognized the girl in the glass.

She dropped her bag onto the floor, her hands trembling slightly as she shoved her phone inside. She hadn’t looked at it since texting Bas.

The words she had sent still echoed in her mind.No problem. Let’s just forget about it.

But she knew she had lied. Itwasa problem.

And she had no idea how to deal with it.

She pulled her ballet shoes from her bag, sat down, and slipped them on, each movement mechanical, almost trance-like. The leather sole felt familiar, comforting, but it couldn’t quiet the storm inside her.

A thought struck her, sharp and sudden.

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