Chapter 7 #2
“You are. You decided I was going to leave, so you’re pushing me out first. Easier that way, right? Can’t be abandoned if you do the abandoning.”
The words hit like physical blows. She stepped back. “That’s not what I’m doing.”
“Then what are you doing? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re so terrified of being hurt that you’re hurting both of us preemptively.”
“You don’t understand—”
“I understand perfectly. I was married to a woman who manipulated me for twelve years. I know something about trust issues.” His voice cracked on the last word, and for a moment she saw the rawness underneath his frustration.
“But I’m not him, Cassie. I’m not Derek.
I’m just a man who’s choosing to be here, with you, and apparently that’s the most unbelievable thing you’ve ever heard. ”
“When the binding fully breaks, you’ll go.” The words came out like a reflex. Like armor. “Everyone goes. Eventually.”
“For fuck’s sake.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I’m standing here telling you the binding isn’t holding me anymore. I could leave right now. This moment. And I’m still here. What more do you need?”
“I don’t know!” The words exploded out of her, louder than she meant.
Loud enough that a few nearby shoppers turned to stare.
“I don’t know, okay? I don’t know how to believe that someone would actually choose me.
Not obligation me. Not stuck-with me. Choose me. Because that’s not—that’s never been—”
Her voice broke. The magic surged with it.
The lights strung over the market flickered. A gust of wind came from nowhere, sending napkins and flyers spiraling into the air. The ground under her feet hummed.
“Cassie, you need to ground—”
“Don’t tell me what I need!” She was crying now, and furious about it.
“You don’t get to show up and fix my music boxes and look at me like I’m worth something and then expect me to just believe it.
That’s not how this works. That’s not how I work.
I’m broken, Liam. I’ve been broken for a long time, and you can’t fix that with patience and hand-holding and—”
“I don’t want to fix you!”
“Then what do you want?”
“YOU. Just you. Broken and chaotic and too much and all of it.” He stepped toward her, and she felt the magic building, responding to her fear.
“I want the woman who creates thunderstorms when she’s overwhelmed.
I want the disaster in the too-small kitchen with the talking cat and the French toaster. I want—”
She didn’t mean to do it.
The magic lashed out before she could stop it—a wave of force that hit him square in the chest and sent him stumbling back three feet, knocking over a display of jam jars that crashed to the ground in a symphony of breaking glass.
The market went silent.
Everyone was staring.
Liam stood amid the wreckage—jam on his shoes, glass glittering around him—and looked at her with an expression that shattered something in her chest.
Not anger. Not fear.
Just… sadness. Bone-deep and weary.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean—I couldn’t control—”
“I know.” His voice was quiet. Defeated. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? You can’t control it. And you won’t let anyone help you learn.”
“Liam—”
“I can’t make you trust me, Cassie.” He brushed glass from his sleeve with careful, deliberate movements.
“I can’t prove something you’ve already decided is impossible.
You have to choose to believe it might be real.
And until you do…” He met her eyes, and the distance in them was worse than any anger.
“I’ll be at the house. When you’re ready to stop running. ”
He turned and walked away.
She watched him go—past the staring neighbors, past Marjorie’s gleeful shock, past the destruction she’d caused—and didn’t follow.
Couldn’t follow.
Her legs wouldn’t move. Her lungs wouldn’t work. The magic had retreated, leaving her hollow and shaking in the middle of a farmers market, surrounded by broken glass and whispers.
“Oh, child.”
Margaret appeared at her elbow like a witch-shaped ghost, carrying a pie in one hand and a look of profound exhaustion in the other.
“I ruined it,” Cassie said. Her voice sounded far away. “I ruined everything.”
“You made a mess,” Margaret agreed. “Come. Sit. The pie booth has a bench that sees a lot of crying. You won’t be the first.”
She let Margaret guide her to a wooden bench behind the baked goods table, away from the worst of the staring. The pie appeared in her hands again—she must have dropped it, and Margaret must have rescued it. She stared at it without seeing.
“He’s been free to leave for days,” she said. “He stayed anyway. And I…”
“Pushed him away. Yes. I saw.”
“I hurt him. With magic. I didn’t mean to, but I—”
“You lashed out because you were scared. Because letting someone love you feels more dangerous than keeping them at arm’s length.” Margaret’s voice was gentle but unsparing. “It’s the thing all new witches do.”
Cassie looked up. “What thing?”
“Destroying the good stuff before it can hurt you.” Margaret settled beside her with a creak of aging joints.
“Magic is emotional, dear. It responds to what you feel. And right now, you’re feeling something terrifying—the possibility that you might actually deserve what he’s offering.
So your magic did what you couldn’t bring yourself to do consciously.
It pushed him away before he could choose to leave. ”
“That’s not—I didn’t—”
“You didn’t mean to. I know. But magic doesn’t care about intentions. It cares about truths.” Margaret handed her a napkin for the tears Cassie hadn’t realized were falling. “The question now is: what are you going to do about it?”
Cassie didn’t have an answer.
She ate pie and cried and let Margaret’s presence be a kind of comfort, even though nothing felt comforting right now.
Somewhere across town, Liam was walking home.
And she had no idea how to follow.