Page 80 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

Fuck waiting for them to get their shit together.

And more importantly,

Fuck Cassian.

Chapter 14

Ishould go after her.

The thought had been pounding through my skull ever since the door slammed shut behind her. It wouldn’t stop. It kept coming, louder each time, pushing against the panic clawing through my chest.

Go after her. Move. Get to her.

But my feet wouldn’t obey.

I stood rooted in the middle of the living room, staring at the door she had walked through. Tears ran unchecked down my face, burning against my skin. I couldn’t even lift a hand to wipe them away. My arms hung uselessly beside me, fingers numb, while every part of me screamed at me to move.

I should go after her.

I had been a few minutes late that night.

A few fucking minutes.

Those minutes had been enough to change everything.

I had stood frozen at the door, wasting time I could never get back. If I had moved sooner, I might have reached her. I might have climbed into that car beside her. I might have stopped her from driving away. I might have kept the accident from ever happening.

Instead, I’d been late.

And now she was leaving again.

My feet still wouldn’t move. I forced air into my lungs, but it came in short, uneven pulls that did nothing to ease the pressure crushing my chest.

Move.

I had to make sure she was safe.

I had to see her get into a car. I had to watch until she was somewhere I knew she would be all right. I needed to know she had made it away from this house without anything happening to her. I needed something—anything—to prove tonight wouldn’t end the way that night had.

But I couldn’t move.

My finger tingled, still warm from where I’d held her wrist.

I stared down at it, unable to make myself move. Her skin had only touched mine for seconds, yet the sensation remained, stubborn and vivid, as if my body had decided to preserve it long after she was gone. I pressed the finger against my opposite palm, harder and harder, needing something physical to drag me back into the room.

The pressure finally cut through the numbness.

I should go after her. I should stop her before she gets too far. I should tell her that she has it wrong.

Instead, when my legs finally obeyed me, they carried me to the couch.

I dropped onto it, the cushions sinking beneath my weight, and sat there staring at the empty space in front of me. My chest felt too tight, every breath catching somewhere between my ribs. I could still see her standing there. Could still hear the edge in her voice. Could still feel the finality in the way she had walked away.

Her words echoed in the silence, sharp and undeniable.

Calling me out.

Telling me I only ever thought about myself.