Page 55 of His To Erase

I suck in a breath that tastes like betrayal and every bad choice I’ve ever made because it’s not just the words—it’s the way he said them.

I press my back to the door, keeping my fists clenched at my sides.

My heart races as that heat rushes up my throat.

I’m so fucking pissed, and humiliated that I let him see me like that.

I sat there and let him pull me apart in ways no one ever has and now he’s tossing it back in my face like it meant nothing.

Fuck that.

I spin, grabbing the nearest pillow, and hurl it across the room with a guttural scream that tears out of my throat like it’s been waiting years to be heard.

It slams into the wall with a soft thud and drops uselessly to the floor—like it’s not carrying every broken thing I can’t say out loud.

Every scream I’ve swallowed. And every feeling I wasn’t allowed to have.

I pace back and forth, but my breath’s too loud, my blood’s too hot, and I still feel his hands on my skin like a curse I can’t scrub off.

I stop in front of the mirror—and wish I hadn’t. My reflection looks unhinged, my hair’s tangled, and my eyes are red and glassy with a rage I don’t know where to bury. I hate this version of me. The one who still wants to be wanted.

There’s a part of me that wants him to come after me, but I know he won’t. Because that would require admitting something.

I grab my phone to call Sarah, my fingers still shaking as I open the screen. I need a distraction. Anything that isn’t this hollow, clawing ache under my ribs. My vision’s still blurry with tears I refuse to let fall, but I need to do something.

A new message from another Unknown number stares back at me. My stomach knots because I know I blocked the last one. So what the fuck is this?

I tap it open and it’s a photo of me, taken from behind. I’m leaving my apartment—hood pulled up, hair a mess, and one hand white-knuckling my phone. It’s grainy, and clearly taken from a distance. But it’s me.

My blood turns to ice.

UNKNOWN: Still sleep with the light on and tuck your feet under the covers like you’re hiding from monsters? They’re coming anyway. You don’t remember what happened, but I do.

My blood runs cold as I stare at the screen. What the fuck does that mean?

Even as I ask it, something shifts. A door creaks open inside me—one I boarded shut a long time ago and swore I’d never touch again.

My throat tightens and suddenly, I’m not in Steven’s house anymore.

I’m somewhere else. I’m hiding in a room with the lights off.

The floor is cold against my bare legs, and my knees are tucked to my chest. I can hear a man’s voice—slurred and violent, while he screams. Something shatters, and the air’s so thick with bleach I feel like I’m suffocating.

I’m under a sink, curled between a mop bucket and a jug of detergent, trying not to breathe. Someone’s crying or maybe that’s me.

And then— I’m back. Ripped out of the memory so hard I gasp. My hands are shaking, and I’m clutching my phone like it might explode.

My whole body’s shaking and my vision’s swimming.

I press a hand to my mouth, but the sob slips out anyway because whoever sent that message…

they clearly know the part of me I’ve been trying to run away from.

It has to be my ex. I don’t think. I just move.

I shove my phone into my pocket, grab the nearest hoodie off the floor, and head for the door.

The second I step into the hallway, Bern starts barking.

“Shhh,” I whisper harshly, glancing toward the living room. “Jesus, you’re gonna give me away—”

I slip out the front door before I can think better of it. The night hits me like a slap—cold and sharp, and far too quiet.

Bern’s still barking behind me as I move fast and low around the side of the cabin, cutting toward the tree line. I don’t know where I’m going, I just know I need some space right now. Branches crunch underfoot and my breath fogs the air.

“Fuck this,” I mutter under my breath, ducking under a low-hanging branch. “Fuck him. Fuck all of them.”

I swipe at my face with my sleeve, still trying to get my breathing under control. That mother fucker, with his goddamn mouth and his accusations like knives. That photo. That message. Everything. I should’ve moved to Europe.

“Creep’s probably watching from a goddamn bush somewhere,” I spit, my voice getting louder. “Stalking me like I’m his. To do what? Erase? Control? Kill?”

My foot slips in the packed dirt and I catch myself against a tree, cursing again. I think I’m having a panic attack.

“God, and that smug bastard. Acting like he’s the only one who's broken. Like I wanted any of this, I didn’t give up my entire life for something I don’t even remember!”

The wind gusts, cold and sharp across my face, but I keep going.

“I don’t know who I was before.”

The words scrape out. “I don’t even know what the hell happened to make me leave. All I have is this pit in my stomach and a handful of dreams.”

I pause, but it’s too late to stop. Bernadette lets out a soft whine behind me, like she knows I’m unraveling. “I didn’t ask for this.” My voice is shaking as the burn hits my eyes. “Any of it.”

I throw my hands out, pacing like the fury needs somewhere to land. “And now I’m just supposed to play house with some emotionally constipated psychopath while my past sends me hate mail from burner phones? Seriously? Fuck that.”

I stop, my chest is heaving, and my hands won’t stop shaking. I brace myself against the nearest tree.

“I’m not doing this. I didn’t sign up for whatever the hell this is—I just wanted to disappear. I just wanted to breathe.”

I press the heels of my hands into my eyes and whisper, “I just want to feel normal. I want to feel safe for five goddamn minutes.”

That’s when I hear it—a twig snapping behind me.

I spin so fast my heart lodges in my throat.

But I already know who it is. Steven steps out of the shadows like he’s been there the whole time—watching, listening.

His shirt’s still off, and his eyes are locked on me like I’m both a threat and a tragedy he already fucking owns.

“You done?”

His voice is pure gravel—low and rough, dragging across my skin like it knows exactly where to hurt. A shiver rips down my spine and goosebumps flash across my arms, heat chasing them like static.

“Not even fucking close.”

“Little late for a nature walk, don’t you think?”

I glare at him, the adrenaline and fury in my chest coils tighter—like a fuse begging for a match.

“Move.”

He doesn’t. Instead, he tilts his head, narrowing his eyes like he’s taking inventory of all the ways I’m coming undone.

“You planning to hike through the woods with just a hoodie and your trauma?”

My teeth clench. “Don’t start with me right now.”

His mouth twitches. “Do you always run when someone gets too close?”

My whole body stills. Not just from the words—but the way he says them. Like he’s already dissected me and left the bones on the table.

I laugh. “No,” I say, keeping my voice tight. “Sometimes I wait until they break something first.”

My hands curl into fists at my sides and I hate how he gets under my skin without even trying. I fucking hate how my breath comes too fast, and my chest won’t stop fucking heaving like I’m being chased.

I swallow hard and add, “Don’t pretend like you haven’t spent the last twenty-four hours proving I was right.”

His eyes flick to the treeline, then back to me—unbothered. “I heard you,” he says quietly. “Back there.”

My stomach tightens and I stiffen. “Eavesdropping now? That your thing?”

“I don’t need to eavesdrop when you’re screaming at ghosts in the dark.”

He takes another step, but I hold my ground. Only, it’s harder now, with him this close—his body is all heat and shadows, but the scent of him is sharp against the cold air.

“You said something about playing house with a psychopath,” he murmurs. “That supposed to be me?”

I lift my chin. “If the boot fits.”

Another half-step and he’s lowering his voice like it’s a secret between us. “Or were you talking about the one you’re really running from?”

My breath catches—just for a second—but it’s enough. His eyes narrow, and his voice drops, quieter this time.

“You think I don’t recognize it? That look in your eye when things get too close?” He stops in front of me. “I used to sleep with a gun under my pillow. Not because I was scared someone would come for me—but because I didn’t trust myself not to get there first.”

His gaze doesn’t soften. If anything, it cuts deeper. “So don’t talk to me about shutting down. I know what it’s like to live in survival mode so long, peace starts to feel like a setup.”

Something shifts in my chest. Maybe it’s nothing, but maybe it’s everything.

“You didn’t bring your bag.” His voice dips lower. “If you were really running… you wouldn’t have left your shit in the house.”

My throat tightens. “Maybe I wasn’t thinking.”

“No.” He stops in front of me again, eyes pinned to mine like he’s already dismantled the lie. “You were thinking too much. That’s the problem.”

His eyes search mine like he’s sifting through rubble for the truth. “What happened before you got here, Ani?”

He’s so close I can’t breathe. And still—I lie.

“I don’t remember.” I say, forcing the words through trembling lips. He stares at me for a long moment.

Then soft and almost deadly. “You remember enough to be scared.”

The words land like a punch to the gut, but I don’t flinch. I refuse. Instead, I tilt my head, eyes burning into his like I might set him on fire.

“Yeah?” I whisper. “And what are you so scared of, Steven?”

That gets him. It’s just the smallest flicker, but I see it. The vein in his neck pulses and his nostrils flare. That unreadable calm in his eyes ripples for half a second, like I found the wire he didn’t want touched. I take a step toward him now, my voice is more controlled.

“You follow me. You watch me like I’m a weapon you’re waiting to use—but you never tell me why. You don’t ask. You don’t trust. You just… hover. Like you’re waiting for the part where I prove you right.”

I pause, the cold air biting at my lips.

“So tell me, what is it exactly that you’re waiting for me to do? Slip up? Bleed? Or just disappear, like everyone else you’ve ever touched?”

His eyes darken. But he doesn’t answer. Because I hit something. And for the first time since I met him—he doesn’t look like he’s in control.