Page 75 of The Truths We Burn

I take a breath, a small one, just enough to prepare for the glances and stares I’ll receive.

Sage Donahue is back, and if they thought I was bad before, they’re in for a rude awakening.

Because now? I don’t give a fuck.

I press the door open, my shoes filling the silence that has taken over the class. I can feel them all staring at me, most of them students I’d graduated with but some new faces in the crowd.

Those are the ones who whisper and ask questions, wondering what it is about me that had seemingly frozen an entire class.

Even the teacher, who is supposed to maintain professionalism, has paused from what she is doing to stare at me. I let them all openly gawk, letting them come to whatever conclusion they want, building stories in their head about where I’d been and what happened.

I can guarantee nothing their pea brains formulate would be worse than the truth.

“Miss Donahue.” Our professor clears her throat. “Please take a seat, and refrain from being late next time as to not disturb our lesson.”

This seems to bring everyone back to earth, reminding them of where we are and what it is they are doing.

They return to their conversations, and their eyes fall to their desks. I take this moment to scan the room for a seat, searching the rows of filled chairs for a single empty one. Preferably one secluded from the rest.

Instead, I’m met with eyes that are half-mast and blazing.

Ones that keep me up at night.

I knew I’d see him. I knew that my job was to put myself in his path, and I thought I would be ready for it.

I thought I had prepared myself for how he would look, to see what the past several months had done to him. I’d run through so many situations in my head, but there is nothing that could really prepare me for Rook.

There never had been.

Timehad been good to him.

He was lean before, but now, now he’s much bigger.His chest is broader, stretching the material of his black long sleeve. Arms that are covered tightly with material seem thicker, and he’d added hand tattoos to his list of self-decoration.

My chest spasms, looking at the way his hair flips out from beneath his backwards flat bill that only he can pull off. The light catches the small silver piercing through his eyebrow, creating a slit in the hair.

He is high—I can tell by how slow his eyes move over me. Not with interest or lust, but instead with disgust. Hatred.

Even the weed can’t soften how he feels about me.

And that’s what makes this hurt.

It’s not seeing his face or that he’d changed.

It’s seeing him stare at me with so much animosity that I can physically feel it touching my skin. I’m reliving that breakup all over again, going through the heartbreak of shattering his trust once more.

I know what he’s thinking, how he wished he’d never met me, never allowed himself to do what we did. The pain that courses through me is almost unbearable because I know that as much as he hates me, he hates himself more for trusting me. And I never wanted that for him.

Subconsciously, I reach up to my collarbone, rubbing my scar that lies beneath my clothes. I’d done this so many times before for comfort, trying to see if I could conjure up good memories and feelings by touching the mark we now shared.

He watches me do this for a second, and it feels like a harsh slap to the face when he flicks his eyes back up.

They’re alarmingly vacant, void of all feelings towards me. I can’t even detect distaste or hatred inside of them anymore. He’s lost all emotion in regard to me, and that hurts the most. Knowing that he feels absolutely nothing towards me.

The Rook I’d once known.

The one who’d so desperately wanted to keep me.

The boy I thought could love me…