Page 119 of Meet Me In The Dark

The decision has been made for me, and I feel a bit devastated.

It’s just another reminder that my body doesn’t follow the rules. That being a woman sometimes means bleeding out in ways no one else sees.

After a long pause, Dr. Patel turns to me, his tone gentler now, like he knows the weight of every word just spoken. “We’ll discuss it again after you’ve had a chance to let it sink in.”

“When can I go home?”

“Once your pain is under control. Maybe a day or two. I’ll check in on you before you’re discharged.”

I nod slowly, my voice caught somewhere between the drugs and the truth.

We stay quiet after Dr. Patel leaves, and oddly, I’m glad for it. I don’t want comforting words. I don’t want pity or empty reassurances. I don’t even want to be looked at, honestly.

I just want the pain to stop.

The pain in my abdomen, yes, but also the one burrowed deeper. The one whispering that now that he knows, he’ll go.

I speak first. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back at work on Monday. My team is more than capable of overseeing any issues with the build when I’m not there. If there’s anything else, I’ll deal with it when—”

“Celeste.” His voice cuts through me. “Fuck the build.”

I blink back tears and swallow the burn in my throat.

“Are you going to look at me?”

Reluctantly, I lift my chin.

“There’s my girl.”

My heart slams against my ribs.

I am not emotionally prepared for this. I’m going to cry and fart and probably say something horrifying. The drugs are still doing their thing, and I am not in a stable condition for this level of affection.

He leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Get some rest.”

All I can do is nod.

Then he leaves.

And I break.

This is it, isn’t it?

This is where he disappears.

It’s not malicious. It’s human. Nobody signs up for this.

I spiral hard for five whole minutes before the door swings open again.

“What the hell?” I whisper.

Julian strides in with his arms full of vending machine snacks. He dumps them on the rolling tray and grabs the remote off the bedside table like this is a perfectly normal Friday night.

He flicks on the TV, then turns to me. “Right. I love your ass, but it’s not that big.”

I gape at him. “What is happening right now?”

He shrugs off his jacket, kicks off his expensive shoes, and points at the bed again. “Move. This side’s mine now.”