Page 191 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

My own tears had been falling for so long I’d stopped noticing them. They were just part of my face now, a constant river carving paths through the wreckage.

“She must have tried to open the door.” My voice cracked. “She must have pulled at it, pushed against it, maybe it got stuck.” I choked on the words. “She must have banged on it. Yelled for help. Screamed until her voice gave out.”

A sob escaped me.

“She must have done all of that until she couldn’t anymore. Until she just… fell. Right there by the door. Trying to get out. Trying to reach someone.”

Cassian didn’t move to wipe his tears. Instead, he dropped his forehead to rest against mine. “She’s fine now.” His voice was thick, barely recognizable. “She’s okay, Alessia. She’s okay.”

But I couldn’t hear him. Couldn’t grasp the words through the images playing in my mind.

“What if they were late?” The question tore out of me, raw and desperate. “What if they hadn’t reached her in time? What if no one even found her? What if—”

“Don’t.” He shook his head, his forehead moving against mine. His hands stroked my arms, up and down, up and down. “Don’t do that. Don’t play the what if game. It’ll destroy you.”

I dropped my head. Looked down at my feet. At the sneakers he’d brought me, the ones I’d put on without thinking, without seeing, without anything.

Tiny bunnies covered them. Little white bunnies with pink ears, scattered across the fabric.

Another tear fell. It landed on one of the bunnies, darkening the fabric.

“What if she leaves me?” The words were barely a whisper, meant for no one. Meant for the bunnies. Meant for the dark.

What if she leaves me like everyone leaves me? What if this is the thing that finally makes her realize I’m not worth staying for? What if she wakes up and looks at me and sees someone who wasn’t there when it mattered?

Cassian’s breath shredded. A raw, broken sound that cut through the night.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself, and wiped his face with the back of his hand. Then his hands were on my face again, tilting my chin up until I had no choice but to meet his eyes.

“Be selfish.”

I blinked, trying to clear the blur of tears. “What?”

He wiped my tears again—useless, beautiful, endless. “You know what I did after your accident?” His eyes held mine. “I played the blame game. The what if game. Over and over and over. What if I’d come home on time? What if I’d just talked to you? What if I’d tried harder to stop you instead of freezing at the doorway?” His jaw tightened. “What if, what if, what if. It played in my head on a loop. I was the reason for your accident. I was the reason you suffered.”

He swallowed hard. “After that, I should have left you alone. I should have given you space. I should have accepted that I didn’t deserve to be anywhere near you.”

He leaned closer, his forehead almost touching mine.

“But I didn’t. Because I’m selfish. I’m extremely selfish when it comes to you.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “And that selfishness is the only reason I’m not at home right now, drowning in guilt. It’s the only reason I’m standing here in front of you, holding you in my arms.”

A tear slipped down his cheek. I watched it fall.

“You’re worried she might be mad at you?” He squeezed my face gently, making sure I was listening. “That she might not want to see you? That she might leave?” He shook his head, conviction burning through the tears. “She won’t. No one who truly knows you can ever walk away from you.”

“But if you’re worried—if that fear is eating you alive—then be selfish.” His voice grew urgent, pleading. “See her anyway. Let her yell at you if she needs to. Let her cry. Let her do whatever she needs to do to get rid of the anger. Be selfish and beg for her forgiveness. Be selfish and don’t let her go.”

He paused, his eyes burning into mine.

“Because I won’t.”

The words hung between us, heavy and light all at once. A promise. A declaration. A simple, impossible truth.

I blinked rapidly, the tears clearing, his face coming into focus.

He didn’t look as confident as his voice had sounded. Not even close. He looked sad. Wrecked. Heartbroken. Like he’d just poured out every ugly part of himself and was waiting for me to walk away.

My hands finally moved. They rose, trembling, and cupped his cheeks. I wiped his tears. My palms settled against his skin, warm and wet, holding him the way he’d held me.