Page 85 of From the Wreckage

Everett

Her words gut me deeper than any blade.

“But I’m not yours. You threw me away.”

I open my mouth, the excuses clawing at my throat. “Bri?—”

But she steps back, tears streaking her face, her chin trembling like she’s using every ounce of strength not to crumble in front of me. Her voice is hoarse, but sharp as broken glass.

“Leave. I don’t need or want you here.” She points at the door, her hand shaking.

My chest caves in, but my feet won’t move. I can’t. Not when she’s standing there hollowed out and broken, because I failed her.

“Bri, please. Just listen?—”

Her eyes harden. She throws her hand up, but doesn’t say a word.

Then she turns, walking fast, every step echoing in the silence like a hammer driving nails into my coffin. The slam of her bedroom door cuts me in half.

And then comes the twist of the lock.

Click.

It detonates through me like a gunshot in the night.

I stand there, useless, my hands curled into fists at my sides, hating myself more than I thought possible. For the silence. For the cowardice. For every second I didn’t fight for her.

I should leave. God knows I should. But I can’t move. I stand rooted to the floor, listening for her through the wall, my body burning to break the lock and fall at her feet until she believes me.

Instead, I choke on the only truth I have left.

I will grovel until my dying breath if that’s what it takes to make her mine again.

I stand there for a long moment, the echo ringing through me, hollowing me out. My chest feels like it’s caving in, ribs splintering around a heart that doesn’t know how to beat without her.

So instead, I move, my steps soundless. The wall is cold against my back as I slide to the floor outside her door. I sit there, my knees bent, hands hanging uselessly between them, listening to the silence on the other side. Every second without her voice is another second I die a little more.

Time crawls. Minutes. Hours. I don’t know. The light fades from the window until the cabin is draped in shadows, and still I sit. Leaving her again would mean tearing the last scraps of my soul out of my chest.

Finally, the lock turns and the door creaks open.

She freezes when she sees me curled against the wall like a broken man. Her eyes widen, surprise flashing before it crumbles into something unreadable. “I thought you left.”

My throat works, words raw when they scrape out. “I couldn’t leave you. Not again.” I drag in a ragged breath, lifting my gaze to hers. “Once nearly killed me. Twice… and you might as well bury me beneath the ground.”

The admission hangs between us, heavy and desperate. My voice is hollow, but it’s the truest thing I’ve ever said.