Page 85 of Broken Pieces
“I said no. I don’t need your pity.”
“Not pity. It’s fucking common sense.”
“I’m fine. You’ll probably want something in return anyway.”
That one lands. I feel it hit deep, a clean shot straight to the gut.
I want to tell her I hate myself for what happened that night. That I’d take everything back if I could. That I’ve thought about that night more than I should, not because of what she did, but because of how wrong it was to let her believe she was nothing but an object to get off with.
But I don’t say any of it.
“Yeah,” I snap. “You look real fucking fine. Sitting on concrete with a bag for a pillow. Real picture of happiness.”
Her jaw tightens. “You don’t get to talk to me like that.”
“Then stop making me watch this shit.”
She looks away again, stubborn to the core.
“Cassie shouldn’t have called you,” she mutters. “She doesn’t know when to quit.”
“Yeah, she gets that from you.”
Her head snaps up, glare sharp enough to flay skin.
“Don’t.”
“What? Tell you the truth?”
“Act like this is your business.”
“It is now.”
Her mouth opens, pauses, then shuts again.
She’s out of comebacks, and that’s how I can tell she’s tired. The kind of tiredness that sits in your bones and won’t wash off.
I drop down beside her on the cold step. “Fine. We’ll sit here. I’ve got nothing but time.”
She shoots me a look.
“You’re serious?”
“Dead.”
The streetlights turn on, throwing yellow over cracked pavement. A bus rolls past, windows glowing, people staring out but not seeing anything.
“Why do you even care?” she asks finally, voice low, almost a whisper.
I stare at the street ahead. The truth sits heavy in my chest, begging to be said out loud.
Because you’re the only person who ever made me want to be better, and that scares the fuck out of me.
But I keep it buried.
“Guess I’m just wired wrong,” I say.
She exhales, shaky, the fight draining from her face.
