I had never experienced that before.
Not once in my entire life had anyone given me something and wanted nothing in return. A condition buried in the fine print.A hand extended, then held over your head the moment you needed a reminder of your place.
From the bedroom, Damien snores. The deep sleep of a man with nothing on his chest.
He came home earlier, shirt half untucked, hair a mess, mouth wearing that lazy grin he gets when someone else makes him feel wanted. He kissed the side of my head and called me baby as if the word could wash the night off him.
I smelled it before he even reached me. Smoke. Whiskey. Perfume. And I said nothing.
There was a time when I would have burned him to the ground with my words and walked away without looking back. When my mouth was the sharpest thing about me. I wielded it like a weapon, striking first because I learnt early that the world hits harder when you give it time to aim. I didn’t take shit from anyone.
Now I sit on this couch and say nothing.
I don’t understand when that happened. When I traded the sharp edges for silence. Maybe it was gradual. Perhaps it happened the way most things do, slowly and then all at once, and by the time I noticed, I’d already forgotten what it felt like to fight back. Or maybe I simply ran out of things worth fighting for.
My phone lights up on the coffee table.
Cassie.
Her name glows across the screen. For a second, I don’t move. I almost don’t answer because I’m aware as to why she’s calling.
My fingers curl around the phone. It vibrates in my palm, a frantic little heartbeat. I answer before I talk myself out of it.
For half a second, there is only breathing on the other end. Then comes the sound of gum snapping between her teeth. “He’s out. Did you go see him?”
Those simple words, and yet my heart cracks open with the pathetic obedience of something that has waited years to break again.
“Sky.” Her voice shifts into something softer now. “Are you breathing or did you finally die dramatically to avoid feeling?”
I blink, pulling my knees tighter to my chest. “It doesn’t change anything,” I say.
Cassie goes quiet. That is how I know she’s pissed. “You cannot possibly believe that.”
“Last I checked, believing was optional.”
“Cute.” The gum snaps. “Are we doing denial today, too? Should I grab snacks, or is this a full-buffet situation?”
I push myself upright on the couch. The robe slips farther off my shoulder, and I yank it back into place as if silk modesty were the real problem here.
“There is nothing to discuss, Cass.”
“Yeah, sure,” she says, chewing hard. “The guy you loved. The guy you cried over until your bones looked hollow. The guy you pretended to hate so hard it started to look like a full-time job and a personality shift. Zane just walked out of prison today. But totally nothing to discuss.”
My throat tightens until swallowing becomes an effort. “I didn’t cry over him.”
Cassie snorts. “Right. And I am a calm, emotionally stable woman who makes excellent choices.” A beat. “Bitch, don’t you lie to me. I know you. I was there.” Her voice drops, the humor peeling back just enough to reveal what’s underneath. “I’ll tell you again. Get rid of that asshole you’re with.”
I glance toward the bedroom.
“You called to tell me he’s out,” I say, keeping my voice low. “Message received. Is that all?”
“No. I called so I could stop you from sitting alone in that soulless home you call an apartment, pretending you’re notthinking about him while that walking STD sleeps off whatever woman he was inside of tonight.”
My jaw snaps tight. “Don’t talk about Damien.”
Cassie laughs, but there is no humor in it. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I insult Prince Charming? Should I send flowers to his wandering dick?”
“Cassie.”
