Page 115 of Watch Me Burn
I reach for my jacket. The movement feels wrong, disconnected. Like I'm watching myself from outside my body, trapped in a nightmare I can't wake from. At the door, I stop and turn back. She stands in the middle of her living room, dwarfed by the space. Surrounded by the ghosts of what we were.
“I love you,” I say again, because it’s the only truth I have left to give her. “That was never a lie.”
She doesn’t look up, her eyes fixed on the floor, like meeting my gaze would shatter whatever fragile control she's clinging to and destroy what's left of her.
Walking away from her is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Each step feels like I’m leaving pieces of myself behind, my feet like lead, every muscle in my bodyfighting the movement. By the time I reach my truck, breathing is impossible around the pain in my chest.
I turn back toward the house, and the light from the living room window spills out onto the porch in pale yellow rectangles. Through the glass, I see her sitting on the couch with her face buried in her hands. Shadow presses his massive body against her side, his head resting on her shoulder like he’s trying to absorb some of her pain.
She’s crying. Not quiet tears but deep, wrenching sobs that shake her entire frame, her shoulders heaving with each one.
My feet move back toward the house before I realize what I’m doing. My hands ball into fists so tight my nails dig crescents into my palms. The need to go back tears through me, to take those steps two at a time, gather her in my arms, and swear I’ll never cause her this kind of pain again. But I can’t promise her that, no matter how much I want to. She needs space to mourn what we had before I took a hammer to it and smashed it into pieces too small to put back together.
She loves me. The words never crossed her lips tonight, couldn’t make it past the hurt and rage choking her, but I know they’re there. I felt it in the way her mouth opened under mine and her body melted against me for those few seconds before she shoved me away. She loves me, and I took that gift and destroyed it with my own hands.
But I meant what I said. This isn’t over. I’ll give her time to process, to heal from what I’ve done. But I won’t give up on us. I can’t. She’s the only good thing I’ve ever had, and I’ll spend the rest of my life proving I’m worthy of her if that’s what it takes.
I get in my truck, a knife twisting in my chest, and press my forehead against the steering wheel.
This is the price of my deception, my cowardice, and my lies. And I’ll carry the image and sound of her crying with me for the rest of my life.
Chapter twenty-nine
Luna
Three days of silence stretch behind me like an open wound. Three days of ignoring Maren’s concerned glances and pushing away the mountain of Chinese food she keeps forcing on me. My stomach churns at the thought of eating.
Three days of replaying that confrontation in my living room. The words echo in my head on an endless loop. His confession, his justifications, his promises that sounded more like threats, and the possessive heat in his eyes when he declared he wouldn’t let me go. They tangle together until I can’t separate the lies from the revelations and can’t tell which hurt more. The deception or the truth underneath it.
I bury myself in work instead, spending extra hours with the fox family that are now permanent residents of the sanctuary. Physical labor helps keep the thoughts at bay. I shovel snow, muck out enclosures, repair fences, and haul feed bags until my muscles scream. By nightfall, I collapse into bed and sink into exhausted sleep, my body drained enough that dreams of him can’t find me. The oblivion is deep enough that I don’t remember the way his hands felt on my skin or the way he whispered my name in the dark.
But the questions follow me like shadows.
How could I have been so stupid?
What does it say about me that I miss him, both versions of him, with an ache that feels physical?
How can I mourn losing someone who was never real to begin with?
On the fourth morning, Karen’s cruiser rolls up my driveway just as I finish feeding the resident owls. It’s Sunday morning, so I’m alone. I’m the only one here on Sundays, unless Maren stays over Saturday night.
My stomach drops as her SUV comes to a stop in front of the house.
Did Damien kill again?
She climbs out of the driver’s seat dressed in civilian clothing. “Morning, Luna.”
“Karen.” I wipe my hands on my jeans, trying to appear casual while my stomach ties itself in knots. “Coffee?”
“Please.”
Inside, I busy myself with the coffeemaker while she settles at my kitchen table, right where my life fell apart less than a week ago. The memories once left me breathless. Now they just hollow me out from the inside.
No. I can’t go there right now. I can’t let the ghost of him haunt me.
But he’s everywhere in this house. He took me in every single room, claimed every surface, every corner, it seems. There isn’t one place I can go to escape the memory of his touch. And I hate him a little for it, for making my own home feel like a shrine to our destruction.
“How’s everything going?”
