Page 57 of North

The door slammed shut behind her.

And then it was just me and North.

Alone.

I didn’t want to be.

I needed to get out of here, needed to be anywhere but standing in the same room as him, breathing the same air as him, hurting because of him.

He took a step forward.

I took a step back.

“Quinn,” he started, his voice rough, desperate. “I—”

“No.”

I shook my head, my chest tightening, my throat closing up. “No, I can’t do this right now. I can’t—” I sucked in a sharp breath, my vision blurring. “I can’t even fucking look at you right now.”

His face twisted, pain flashing across his features, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care about how he kept staring at me, or why he stood there, stiff and silent, like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

I didn’t care.

Or at least, I wanted to believe I didn’t.

But it wasn’t that simple, was it?

Because no matter how much I wanted to hate him, no matter how much I wanted to feel nothing—there was still something inside me that ached when I looked at him. Something inside me that wanted to scream, that wanted to demand answers. I should have felt satisfied seeing him flinch, seeing him look like he wanted to sink into the floor and disappear. But it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

I should have left the room when Evie did.

I should have followed her into the safety of her room and shut North out, shut all of this out. But I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe past the weight pressing against my ribs.

North shifted, the sound of his footsteps against the wooden floor making my stomach twist.

"Quinn." His voice was low, broken, hesitant.

I shook my head. "Don’t."

He took another step closer.

I took a step back.

"I—I didn’t—" He trailed off like he didn’t know what to say. Like he didn’t know where to start.

I laughed, but it was sharp and humorless, filled with nothing but disbelief and exhaustion. "You didn’t what, North? You didn’t mean to humiliate me? You didn’t mean to make a joke out of me? Didn’t mean to hurt me?"

His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "I didn’t know—"

"You didn’t know what?" I snapped. "That I would actually feel it? That I would actually care? That maybe—just maybe—I thought you were different, that I was stupid enough to believe you were someone I could trust?"

His eyes were filled with something I couldn't name, something dark and desperate, but I wasn’t going to let myself be pulled into it.

I wasn’t going to let myself believe that he was the one hurting.

Because he wasn’t.

He didn’t get to be.

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