Page 20

RUBY’S THROAT BURNED from her time spent squatting beside the toilet, but she felt like a new woman after practically scrubbing off the top layer of her skin under the hot water of her shower.

A few steadying hits from her supplement found her once again on her hands and knees, this time searching for her phone under her bed.

When she glanced at the screen, a slew of missed calls and texts from Jonah greeted her.

A few were frantic, asking where she was, if she was okay.

Others were apologetic. The last message, three and a half hours old, read: I’ll be at the hotel bar if you want to talk .

Her chest tightened as she made her way downstairs, half-hoping Jonah had already left. A sick part of her wanted to see him, wanted to relish in his pain. It would only be a fraction of what he had caused her. But it had been hours since he messaged. Surely he was gone by now?

What had happened with Gerald had been beyond words, a nightmare the two of them could have shared.

Maybe it was selfish, wanting to share that burden with someone.

But years of grieving alone, of keeping secrets, of feeling everything but showing nothing had worn her down.

Still, Jonah didn’t know the full truth; he couldn't, not without breaking something in him that still had light, still had hope. He wasn’t built for the same darkness that shadowed her.

Fuck, she was getting dramatic with age .

With an internal promise to reduce the amount of literary fiction she read, she stepped into the hotel bar.

The scent of salty fried food and cloying perfume mingled in the air.

The room itself was sleek, with leather stools lined up against a dark mahogany bar.

Rich, buttery leather armchairs were scattered around, surrounding tiny glass tables.

The lighting was low, casting warm, intimate shadows from expensive glass-shaded bulbs.

Her eyes landed on him instantly, drawn to him in a way she wouldn’t allow herself to analyze.

He slouched in a far corner, nursing what looked like the remnants of an amber-colored drink.

His hair was pulled back into a loose bun, thin glasses slipping down his nose, the familiar scruff of his jaw thicker than usual.

He muttered to himself as she walked over.

“I should buy her something nice... then apologize. A necklace, maybe? Or a purse?” His head thunked against the bar. “She’d like that, right?”

"She wouldn't," Ruby said dryly, sliding into the seat beside him. "You could never afford her taste."

Jonah blinked, eyes lifting sluggishly toward the ceiling. "God?" he asked, bleary.

“I usually go by Ruby.”

His head jerked up. "Ruby!" A goofy grin lit his face before it fell into a deep frown. It stunned her. Typically he looked at her with a scowl, or a smirk. Not like she shot rainbows out of her ass. Not like he was genuinely excited to see her. “You’re mad at me, aren’t you?”

“I am.” There was no point in lying. He wouldn’t remember this in the morning anyway.

"You deserve to be." He reached for his glass, missing it by several inches as Ruby smoothly slid it away. His expression crumpled into a pout, but when he looked at her, there was rawness in his eyes, a vulnerability she hadn’t expected. “I am sorry, you know. I didn’t mean it. I just…”

He trailed off, tears gathering at the edges of his lashes. He wiped them away quickly, but his brokenness lingered in the air between them. "I keep seeing his face. He deserved better."

She didn’t need to ask. Gerald’s eyes haunted her thoughts, too. “There was nothing we could’ve done.”

"That's not true.”

"It is," she whispered, placing her hand over his. “At that point, it was a mercy. We already live as something less than human. When you take away the memories, the identity, what’s left?”

“Just the bacteria,” he mumbled. “But we could’ve gotten rid of that.”

Ruby gave him a sad, knowing smile. It was much kinder than she intended, a slip in her righteous anger. “If only.”

Jonah’s eyes flicked back to hers, glassy but earnest. He reached up, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, shaking fingers lingering on her skin.

"I should be comforting you. I know you didn’t have a choice.

I knew from the start you weren't the monster they said you were. I should’ve never let myself believe. .. you’d ever hurt anyone.”

“Anyone human, you mean.”

“Anyone,” he corrected softly. His fingers trailed down her cheek, sending a shiver through her, as his gaze bore into hers. “Not if you had a choice. I’m sorry that choice was taken from you.”

Ruby slid his glass of water closer. “It wasn’t just me. Edward took it from all of us.”

Jonah leaned in, his breath warm and tinged with the scent of cognac. His next words were so quiet she barely caught them. “I lied to you... I remembered you. I never stopped thinking about you, not for a second. Even after all these years.”

“No shit…Why didn’t you tell me? Why even bother with such a stupid lie?” The question tumbled from her lips, even though she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer.

His head dropped to the counter, a sorrowful weight in his shoulders. “I was afraid. I thought you’d hate me for not coming back. And I didn’t know you’d be so… you .”

“And what am I?”

“My mystery girl. The one with sad eyes and a sharp tongue. The one I could never forget, who haunted both my dreams and my nightmares.” His head rolled to the side, his cheek pressed against the wood, and he met her eyes. “But also just... Ruby. My Ruby. You were my best friend.”

Ruby inhaled sharply. This was too much. Too many confessions, too many cracks in the wall she built between them. She wasn’t ready to deal with all of it, especially not from the drunken mess he was right now.

“Excuse me,” she called to the bartender. “I’ll pay his tab.”

The bartender barely glanced at her, muttering as he slid the bill over. “Finally. This guy’s been rambling about zombies and superpowers all night. Comic books messing with people’s heads…”

Ruby tossed down two hundred dollars, cringing at the hefty $160 bill. “Ready to go, big guy?”

Jonah’s face twitched into a hesitant smile. “I’d go anywhere with you.”

Her chest tightened again, an unfamiliar warmth spreading through her. She forced out a dry chuckle, masking her discomfort. He tried to stand and stumbled, nearly face-planting.

She groaned. “Come on, you idiot. Hop on.” She squatted, offering her back.

“Can’t. My legs are broken.”

“They’re not broken.” Her patience was running thin. “Get on before I throw you over my shoulder.”

He leaped onto her back with a little too much enthusiasm, nearly knocking her over. With a grunt, she adjusted him and walked toward the elevator, carrying him easily.

Back in the room, she helped him out of his shoes and set his glasses on the nightstand. He clumsily tugged off his shirt, revealing his toned chest, and she quickly averted her eyes, turning to leave.

But then, his hand caught hers, tugging her gently back. “Please, Rubes... don’t leave me again.”

The irony of his plea, from a man who had years to reach out and never did, wasn’t lost on her. But despite everything, she found herself sitting on the floor beside him, gripping his hand tightly, the line between who was comforting whom blurring.