Page 132 of These Tears

He’s been quiet too long.

And it’s not the quiet that descends after labour or after a stressful day, soothing the soul. This is the kind that had gathered in clusters every time Anders said wife, every time my ring caught the light, and every time Elias remembered I tried to run.

He disappears into the bedroom, then returns quicker than I can follow.

Something flies my way before his foot has even left the threshold.

A weight smacks hard into my palms.

A book.

I glance down at the cover.

Heat slams into me as the red cover sneers up at me from my palm.

My throat closes. Dread is already pushing the air out of my lungs.

Elias is halfway to the kitchen, yanking open the fridge as if he hasn’t just hurled an active grenade into my arms. He reaches inside and pulls out a chilled packet, then begins emptying it onto a plate.

With growing panic, I watch him spoon something that looks like jam, then begin piling everything else beside it. The sheer simplicity of the act feels absurd while I am standing here unable to feel my toes.

The book feels as if it’s burning a hole in my hand.

I glance at the cover again.

Then back at the jam.

My gut twists.

Oh God.

I actually… know this scene. The internet practically combusted over it.

Elias turns before the colour fully reaches my cheeks, the kitchen light cutting across one side of his face and completely darkening the other.

He’s not going to make me read that, is he?

His eyes move to the paperback in my hands.

Then to me.

‘Down on the rug, Leah.’

I can’t move.

‘Why?’ The question comes out on a startled breath as he takes that first step towards me.

His gaze doesn’t waver when the second falls, not even when the third brings him just behind the couch that separates us.

‘Today you reminded me of someone.’ His eyes lose whatever warmth was left in them.

My feet are rooted to the floor. Even my grip on the book loosens. It feels like standing at the edge of an open grave and realising the only way to go is forward.

‘Who?’ I ask, though some wiser part of me wants to swallow the question instead.

His jaw clenches. ‘A woman,’ he says. ‘Someone who thought wanting something badly enough made it right to take it.’ His gaze doesn’t leave mine. ‘Who lied with wet eyes. Who taught me that even a smiling mouth can bite.’

The room shrinks.