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The glance that comes my way has my heart shuddering in its bony confines. He drinks in the sight of the woman sitting in front of him, but he fails to see me, and part of me is disappointed.
For years, we used to lie awake at night, cloistered in a bed, shrouded by darkness and bedsheets, talking until our voices became weary and our eyes grew heavy. Now, he looks at me like I’m no one.
Yet I know the most intimate parts of him.
Knew.
Iknewthe most intimate parts of him.
I knew every dark recess and possessed every black mark on his soul because while we knew nothing but darkness, we learned to love one another between the mayhem of it all.
Part of me always hoped those moments we shared, those saccharine instances where we held each other tightest, would forge a binding so strong nothing—not even pure madness—would rip apart.
But I guess when you want to kill, you kill to forget.
To Beckett Knight, I’m a corpse pushing daisies.
To the rest of the world, I will always be the smear on his soul.
I’ll take leaving him with scars he knows he can hide but not escape.
Just like he left me.
“What’s your name?”
His voice draws me out of my reverie with a quick tug wrapped in a smooth tone.
“Uh-uh,” I deny him, a soft grin on my lips. “You first.”
A flash of annoyance passes through his expression, but he’s quick to hide it, and even quicker to obey.
“Beckett… but most call me Beck.”
“Different.”
I tip my head sideways, giving him a small smile as our eyes meet. He’s turned into every daydream I had and more. I imagined the way his jaw would cut the air as he matured, and the way his nose would sit upon perfect features, but nothing prepared me for the sheer magnitude of his beauty. He hasn’t changed much about himself, but he feels more like a man now - like he owes the world nothing because he’s who he needs to be.
“Now you.”
I allow idle fingers to work their way across the diamonds of my necklace, absentmindedly toying with each as I fix him with a look.
“Something tells me you won’t remember me after I walk out of those doors, so names are irrelevant.”
“Who said you’re leaving alone?”
Smooth tone, smooth talker.
None of this even seems wrong to me. He always was a charmer, and I’m sure his lips talked a lot of women into his bed before they did a lot more. I bristle inwardly at the thought, remembering vows we had once made to one another but knew would not be upheld when everything I knew vanished from before me.
Jealousy is an ugly emotion, and I don’t want to feel even a breath of that green-eyed bitch.
My heart is traitorous, though, and the mutinous organ both loved and hated the bare essence of Beckett Knight.
Once he had loved me, every single part, and then, in the blink of an eye, he hated me enough to destroy me.
As our drinks arrive, brown eyes that used to watch my every move scrutinize me, and I slowly reach for my purse, fully prepared to pay for my drink. I know this game and I’m willing to play every motion of it. A hand reaches for mine, palm covering it whole in order to stop my movement.
“You’re not paying.”
