Page 12 of You Were Always Mine
It makes me want to rip my hand away — because all I can think of is Kai pressed against me in the hallway, voice low and lethal:If your friend lays a hand on you — I will fucking cut them off.
Tyler has no idea he’s already marked for death, and I have no idea why I just agreed to step deeper into the fire when I’m already burning.
Kai
The café is too bright, too clean, glass windows catching the sun like they’re trying to blind me. I sit in the far corner, hat pulled low, hands wrapped around a cup I haven’t touched. My focus isn’t on the coffee. It’s on her.
Scarlett.
She’s across the room, black dress hugging her body like sin stitched in fabric, lips painted red, hair spilling over her shoulders. She’s too much for this place — too much for the soft chatter, the weak coffee, and the boy sitting across from her.
He’s leaning forward, smiling at her like she hung the stars, his hand inching too close to hers — and she lets him. She’s nodding, laughing softly, pretending she belongs here with him when I know better. I can see it in the way her eyes dart to the door, in the way her shoulders tense when he brushes her hair back like he has any right.
She said yes. I can read it on his face — the glow ofvictory, the smug little curve of his mouth. He asked, and she agreed. A real date.
My jaw clenches so hard it aches.
Scarlett doesn’t know what she’s done.
He doesn’t know he’s already living on borrowed time, because I can see it — his hand sliding across the table, fingers brushing hers, testing, claiming. Her lips curving, nervous but there, and something inside me snaps sharp enough to taste blood.
She’s mine.
Not his. Not anyone’s.
I lean back in my chair, eyes locked on them, every muscle coiled tight. The steam from my untouched coffee curls into the air between us like smoke from a gun barrel.
This is the part they never understand.
I don’t lose.
I don’t share.
I don’t move. I don’t breathe. I just watch.
He leans in — all boyish charm — his voice too low to catch, but Scarlett laughs anyway. It’s soft, nervous; not the kind of laugh she gives when something’s actually funny, but he doesn’t notice. He thinks he’s winning. He thinks she’s here with him, in this moment, instead of splintering under the weight of my eyes.
She stirs her coffee though it’s already gone cold, her fingers trembling just enough that I notice. He doesn’t. He’s too busy talking with his hands, his shoulders, filling the air with empty noise.
Then his hand shifts across the table — slow, deliberate — palm up, waiting for hers.
Scarlett freezes. Just for a second. Then she sets her hand down, close but not touching, like she’s daring him.
The breath burns in my lungs. My nails dig half-moonsinto my palms. My vision tunnels until it’s only them — her delicate fingers resting too close to his, his smile widening like he’s earned something, like he’s owed something.
She doesn’t pull away.
The thought of his hand closing over hers makes my chest burn, makes the edges of my vision bleed red. I want to break this table between us, drag her out into the street, remind her who she belongs to — but I stay seated. Still. Patient.
That’s what makes it worse. That’s what makes it choke.
I let her laugh. I let him touch. I let them sit there and pretend this is real — because the longer I wait, the sweeter it’ll be when I ruin it.
I sit back, still as stone, while their little performance drags on. He talks too much — about his classes, about his band, about his plans for the weekend. Scarlett nods, smiles in all the right places, but it’s hollow. I see the way her shoulders stiffen every time his arm shifts, the way her eyes flick towards the door like she’s counting down the minutes until she’s free.
He doesn’t notice. He thinks she’s his.
Eventually, his phone buzzes. He checks it, frowns, and sighs as if the world just dealt him some great tragedy. ‘I should go,’ he says, all regret and charm. He leans across the table, close enough that I want to put my fist through the glass, and Scarlett forces a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
