Page 29 of Only ever you-Ana & Byron
Ana looked at him, eyes wide to keep the tears in. Her weariness was bone deep.
"I think..." She sighed. "You know I've loved you for a while. But I don't like games. I don't like lies. So, tell me, Byron. Did you evergenuinely want me? Or was it always about your selfishness? Were you always using me?"
The room felt quiet. Even the crumbling house seemed to hold its breath.
Byron held her gaze for a moment too long.
Then he looked away.
Ana stilled.
"So... if Cathy hadn't blackmailed you..." she began, but didn't finish.
His silence was answer enough.
Her breath hitched, sharp and silent, like she'd taken a punch to the ribs. She stepped back a little, her expression was cooling rapidly, but her eyes, her eyes were still gutted.
She turned without a word and walked out.
Down the threadbare stairs, across the worn hallway.
Sylvia was halfway up, her back against the wall, trying to look casual but clearly eavesdropping.
Ana didn't meet her eyes. She brushed past, stiffly, and let herself out the front door with a soft click.
Sylvia waited until she heard the gate creak shut. Then she crept up the rest of the stairs and pushed open Byron's door.
He was lying on his bed, arms behind his head, staring blankly at the water-stained patch on the ceiling. His legs were stretched out, one ankle crossed over the other, still and pale.
Sylvia walked in without a word, lay down next to him, mirroring his pose, elbow to elbow.
They stared together at the ceiling in silence.
Then, quietly, "Why did you tell her that?"
Byron didn't respond. His jaw clenched slightly, but he kept his eyes fixed upward.
"She thinks it was all a lie," Sylvia said as she side-eyed him. "You know you've been in love with her for years."
Still nothing.
"Ever since you were, what, ten? The stupid facts you made up just to make her look at you, the way you used to save your snacks so you could trade for her favourites. The way you used to check your breath before talking to her." Her voice was soft now. "Don't pretend it didn't mean anything."
Byron's chest rose and fell. But his face didn't change.
He just whispered, "Look at us."
Sylvia blinked. Turned her head to him.
"Look at where we are," he continued, voice barely audible. "What do I have to offer her? What do I even have?"
Sylvia sighed, "She is never going to come back."
Byron's eyes stayed on the ceiling, but a tear slipped sideways across his temple, trailing down into his hairline. Another soaked into the pillow. Then another.
He lifted one arm and draped it over his face, covering his eyes, breathing ragged and uneven.
"I know," he said.
