Page 116 of Power Play
“Shedidthat. I didn’t ask her to. I tried to back off, I swear to God. I told her it wasn’t a good idea, but she just kept going. And then the cameras were everywhere, and…”
“And you juststood there,” Mia hisses. “Letting the whole world think she had a shot. Letting Sophie think…”
“I wouldnevercheat on her.”
“Then why didn’t you leave? Why didn’t you call her the second it happened instead of letting her find out online like everyone else?”
There’s a beat of silence. Then Murphy’s voice cracks at the edges. “Because I was scared. Because I knew what itlookedlike, even if it wasn’t real. And I didn’t know how to fix it.”
Inside, I crumble a little.
Mia’s voice softens, barely. “You hurt her. She trusted you, and you made her feel like just another headline.”
“I know.”
“She’s not like those other girls, Murph. She’s not here for the glitz. She’s here foryou, or at least, she was.”
He sounds like he’s choking. “Please. Just let me talk to her.”
“She doesn’t owe you that.”
“Iloveher.”
I feel something give way in me.
Mia sighs and steps back inside, but she leaves the door unlocked.
Still, he keeps going. “I love you, Soph. I love you and I miss you and if I could take back every second of that night, I would.”
I walk to the closet. My movements feel slow, numb. I pull out the bin liner I packed this morning, the one with his hoodie, his trainers, his stupid novelty socks. Everything that felt like him.
I open the door.
He looks like hell. His eyes are rimmed red, hair a mess, jaw tight. He opens his mouth, but I thrust the bag at him before he can say a word.
“Sophie,”
“You said five minutes. That was five minutes. We’re done.”
He stares at me, stunned. “Please. Don’t do this.”
“Ihaveto,” I say, voice trembling. “Because if I don’t, I’ll let you talk your way out of it. I’ll believe you. And I’ll end up here again, next time someone decides to throw herself at you for the cameras.”
His voice breaks. “There won’t be a next time. I’ll never let anyone do that again. I swear to you.”
“But youdid. That’s the point.”
He takes the bag slowly. As though it’s filled with glass.
“I was picking paint colours,” I whisper. “For the flat. We were supposed to move in together.”
He sways a little on his feet. “I wanted that too. I still do.”
“Then why didn’t you act like it?”
He doesn’t have an answer. There’s just pain in his eyes. Real, raw, wrecked.
“I can’t do this,” I say. “I can’t keep wondering if I’m enough.”
