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"Sooooooooooooo... you're still single?" he asked, looking away.
Is this guy serious?
He *killed someone*, and he's asking if I'm single? Like… what? Is he expecting me to smile and say *no*, and fall right back into his arms like nothing happened? Like he didn't disappear after that night? Like he didn't shatter the last safe place I had?
I looked at him, disgusted. He didn't meet my eyes. I think he was trying to act shy. *Shy.* The same man who held a gun in his hand now couldn't look at me straight? The man who broke me down piece by piece now acts like some shy kid asking a dumb question.
I hissed, voice sharp. "Why do you ask?"
"Just curious," he muttered, still avoiding my eyes like he was afraid I'd punch him or spit in his face.
I stood up so fast the chair nearly tipped over. He blinked, confused at first—but then he saw the fury blazing in my eyes, and he turned away again like a coward hiding from the storm he caused.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, barely audible.
"You're *sorry*?" I snapped, my words cutting through the heavy silence like knives. "After everything you did? After the blood, the silence, the vanishing act—and now you just show up, acting like we're still playing house? Like nothing broke? Like none of it ever happened?"
He opened his mouth, but no words came out. No excuses, no apologies—just empty air that felt heavier than any truth.
"You didn't even try to apologize. You didn't reach out. You didn't explain. You just *left*. And now you're standing here, pretending like it was all just some mistake you made on a random Tuesday afternoon."
My throat tightened. Tears pricked my eyes, but I blinked them back hard. "You killed someone, Josh."
For a moment, he looked at me—really looked—and I swear I caught a flicker of something breaking behind those guarded eyes. But it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.
"How do you even sleep at night?" My voice trembled, raw and pained. "Do you just forget? Did you do it before? Are you even *capable* of feeling guilty? Or were you planning to kill me, too?"
He flinched as if I'd hit him.
"I would never—" he started, voice cracking.
"Then why did you kill someone so easily?" I pressed, fury rising like a fire I couldn't put out. "And why did you *have* a gun, Josh? Who just keeps a gun lying around? Who are you? Because I don't think I ever really knew you at all."
He took a hesitant step forward, desperate now. "Can we talk somewhere private—"
"No." I pulled away sharply when he reached for my hand. "Save it. I don't care anymore."
My voice cracked as I backed away. "I don't care what your reasons were. I don't care what you tell yourself to sleep at night. All I want now is a good future. A good future for me and my chi—"
I stopped mid-sentence.
He noticed the pause, voice soft. "Why did you stop?"
I stared past him, blinking hard to keep the tears from falling. "I just… I just want a good future for myself," I admitted, covering the slip quickly. "I can't keep having you in the back of my mind. I can't live with the fear eating away at me. What if someone finds you? What if it all comes crashing down? What if it ruins everything I'm trying so hard to rebuild?"
The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the distant sounds of the party—laughter, music, life moving on without us.
And somewhere deep inside, I realized this wasn't just about him anymore. It was about me. About surviving the wreckage. About finding peace after the fire.
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