“I forgive you.”
The relief is so immediate it almost knocks me off the chair. But something feels wrong—she still won’t look at me. And suddenly I realize forgiveness isn’t the same thing as trust.
“Talk to me,” I say quietly.
She laughs once. Not cruelly, but as though it’s either that or cry another river of tears.
“You set me up, Fiero.”
She finally turns around, tears swimming in those turquoise eyes I’ve loved half my life. “It was calculated, detailed, drawn out overweeks.”
The hope shatters in my bloodstream making me hot with shame.
“You planned it all—every detail.”
“Pfeiffer—”
“You know what kind of person is capable of doing that to someone?”
I can’t answer. Because I know exactly what kind of person does that. I became that person.
“Even after you took my virginity…” Her voice cracks completely. “You still kept going.”
Jesus Christ.
“I loved you,” she whispers. “And the entire time, you already knew how this would end.”
I swallow, almost choking on the dryness of my throat.
“You never intended to choose me.”
“That’s not true.”
“But itwastrue then.” The tears of sadness have turned into tears of fury now. “You always planned to walk away and hurt me when I’d already given youeverything.”
The room feels suddenly airless. I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out. The irony of that isn’t lost on me. The one time I really need to fucking say something, I can’t.
But it’s her last line that reopens every wound I’ve ever survived.
“You let me believe I was finally safe, and I wasn’t.”
She wipes angrily at her face and steps back from me, and I realize with cold horror that I’ve lost her.
“You know what the saddest part is?”
I lift my gaze to hers, letting down my guard for the final blow—everything I’ve earned.
“If you'd come to me first and told me the truth before it all came out the way it did…”
My fists curl, the short nails drawing blood from my palms.
“…I’d have found a way to get past it.”
My throat tightens with regret and the gun in my waistband burns into my skin, itching to fire a bullet into my brain. Even that would hurt less than this.
“You should go,” she says, turning back to the window.
I let her words hover for a moment, every inch of me praying she’ll take them back, but she doesn’t.
