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“Things are different,” he murmurs.
“They are.”
“They’re still your friends, you know. Nothing will change that.”
My lips purse as I glance away, trying to swallow the ball of emotion in my throat.
“Abi, look at me.”
I don’t.
I can’t.
“Abigail…”
Slowly, I lift my eyes. I don’t want to but there’s something magnetic about his voice. An invisible thread that tugs on something deep inside of me.
Even now.
Even after he rejected me and crushed my heart.
A beat passes, the air stretching between us. Until Elliot blinks and the moment dissipates.
“I’m fine,” I mutter, drumming my fingers against the marble top.
He heats a pan and adds the batter. The silence is uncomfortable, but I don’t complain.
I don’t say anything.
I barely manage a thank you when he serves me a small stack of pancakes and pushes a bottle of syrup towards me.
My stomach grumbles, but a wave of nausea rolls through me, and I clutch my stomach.
“Okay?”
I nod again.
“Maybe just eat a little. Something is better than nothing.” Elliot settles back against the counter, watching me. But the usual ice in his gaze has been replaced with something else.
“Thank you.” I take a minuscule bite, struggling to swallow the sugary sweet pancake. But I force it down, knowing I need to eat something.
“Can we talk about it now?”
“About what?” The fork freezes midair, my fingers gripping the handle tensely.
“Red, come on.”
“Please, don’t call me that.”
“You hurt yourself, Abi.”
“And I told you, I don’t want to talk about it. It was a mistake.”
“Ab—”
“No, Elliot,” I quietly seethe. “You don’t get to ambush me the second I build up the courage to leave your room. I’m not a child. I’m not your problem to fix.”
His fist curls against his thigh as he stares me down, but I don’t break.
