Page 107 of Ghosts Don't Cry

“Yes, it is.” His voice is colder now,meaner,yet there’s still that weird flatness underneath. “You love the way it makes you feel, don’t you? Playing the savior. Keeping the poor, broken boy warm at night. Bringing me food so you can sleep peacefully in your bed knowing you’re a good person. You think that makes you different? News flash, it fucking doesn’t. It makes you worse than the people who just fucking ignore me.”

I shake my head. “Ronan, I never?—”

“You did. Youdo. You think you see me, but you don’t. You just see what you want to see.” His eyes flick to the flask on the floor, and his lips twist before he laughs. “Look at you. Standing there claiming I’m wrong, when you’ve brought a doggy bag of scraps like I’m some stray fucking dog you’re trying to keep alive. I don’tneedit. I don’t fucking needyou.”

I can’t breathe. There’s a vice around my throat, crushing down. My eyes burn with the need to cry, but I force the tears back. I willnotcry in front of him. “You don’t mean that.”

His laugh is derisive. “Don’t I?” He shakes his head, the movement erratic and jerky. A tremor runs through him before he stiffens his spine. “Go home, Lily. Go play pretend with someone else.”

I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to reach him. All Idoknow is that he’s locking me out, and I’m standing in front of a version of Ronan I don’t recognize.

His fingers move at his sides, curling into fists and then loosening. The movement is subtle, restless, as though he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. A muscle ticks in his jaw. His weight shifts again, that same careful redistribution.

He hasn’t looked at me properly since I walked in.

I try to swallow past the lump in my throat and step forward, setting down the gift I’d wrapped near his blankets. He moves, his body swaying toward mine for just a second before he catches himself. His hand brushes my coat as I straighten, so light a touch I almost miss it, then he’s backing away, putting distance between us.

“My parents are taking me out of town tomorrow. We always visit Mom’s sister for New Year.”

“Good for you.” He sounds completely disinterested, back to staring through the window again.

“I just …” I don’t even know what I’m trying to say. My heart is hammering against my ribs, each beat painful. “I wanted you to know.”

He nods, without turning.

I hesitate, waiting for anything else, but that’s it. That’s all he gives me. No final words, no last look. Just a sharp sigh and a flex of his fingers before he shoves them back into his pockets. I turn, forcing myself to leave, my pulse a dull roar in my ears. There’s no movement behind me. He doesn’t ask me to stop, and he doesn’t follow me out. The ache in my chest gets stronger the farther away from him I walk.

When I push the door open and step outside, the wind cuts through my coat, numbing my face, my fingers, everything but the pain inside me.

I don’t remember the drive home. I’m on autopilot while my mind replays his words. I sit at a red light, staring at nothing. The light turns green. I don’t notice until someone honks behind me.

When I finally pull into the driveway, it takes four attempts to open the front door because my fingers won’t work properly. I kick off my shoes and almost run to my room before my parents can see me. Once inside, I sink onto the bed, my body aching in ways I can’t explain.

But I don’t cry. I just stare at the ceiling and wait for the pain in my chest to ease.

It doesn’t.

Hours slip by, or maybe just minutes. I don’t know anymore. My limbs are heavy, my head full of static. Eventually, exhaustion wins and my eyes slide shut, but sleep doesn’t bring relief. It brings dreams … nightmares where I’m standing outside a glass-walled room, while Ronan slowly freezes to death inside and people walk past ignoring my screams for help.

When I wake up, the light outside is gray. Mom is moving through the house, her voice floating in from down the hall as she talks to Dad about the trip to her sister’s. Their voices and laughter fill the house. Normal sounds, normal conversations.

Butnothingis normal. Nothing will ever be normal for me again.

I drag myself out of bed, and take a shower before heading downstairs for breakfast. I smile where needed, and nod at the right moments.

Mom glances at me over her coffee cup. “You feeling okay, honey? You’re quiet this morning.”

“Just tired. I didn’t sleep very well.” It’s not a lie.

She studies me for a moment, then nods. “Well, you can always nap while we’re on the road.”

It’s easier once we’re in the car because I’m in the back seat and can pretend to read. But I can’t take in any of the words on the page. All I can see is Ronan, standing there in that factory, breaking my heart with his words.

I reach into my coat pocket for my earbuds, and my fingers brush paper. I frown, pulling it out and unfolding it. My stomach drops when I recognize the handwriting.

Some stories don’t get happy endings, Phare. Some people aren’t meant to be saved. Don’t waste your light trying to guide this shipwreck home.

A choked sound escapes my throat, and I press my hand over my mouth to muffle it. My eyes fill with tears, vision blurring as I read the words again.