3. Lilith
CHAPTER THREE
“ H ello? Earth to Lilith.”
Shit. How long had I been out of it?
Molly was sprawled across the opposite end of the couch, raising the bottle of wine like a distress signal as she leaned forward, narrowing her eyes at me. “I’m getting more attention from Cat Piss tonight than you.”
My gaze flicked to the glass tank in the corner of the room, where my chubby, emotionally unavailable bearded dragon lay splayed out beneath her heat lamp, eyes half-lidded, little lizard arms stretched out like she was sunbathing on the Amalfi Coast.
“One, her name is Katniss. And two, she’s good company,” I muttered, shifting in my seat. “She has layers.”
“Layers?” She barked out a laugh, propping her feet up on the coffee table. “She’s a scaly potato with commitment issues. She won’t look me in the eye. She refuses to eat when I’m in the room. I’m beginning to take it personally.”
“It’s probably because you keep calling her Cat Piss,” I replied, swirling the wine in my glass.
She laughed, but I could feel her gaze searing into me now. I knew exactly what was coming before she even opened her mouth.
“Lilith. Come on now. What’s going on with you?”
Right on cue.
“Nothing,” I said.
“Sure. Nothing.” She echoed, tucking a strand of copper hair behind her ear. “You’ve been zoning out like crazy lately. And don’t even try to blame work, it’s been quiet for weeks.”
I took a slow sip of wine, hoping she’d drop it if I stayed quiet long enough. She didn’t. Of course she didn’t. She was like a dog with a bone when she thought something was off. She’d gnaw at it, dig it up, and drag it into the light, wagging her tail the whole damn time.
That’s how she’d been from the moment I’d met her at Sonnets & Spines —the bookstore I worked at.
She’d been there first, practically part of the furniture, and within minutes of my first shift, she’d decided we were going to be best friends before I’d even had the chance to figure out how to introduce myself.
“I’m just tired,” I said.
“Oh my God,” she gasped, eyes widening. “You’re pregnant.”
“Ew. Hell no.” I grimaced, tipping my glass toward her before taking a long, slow sip.
She snorted. “Okay, fine. Did you get married in secret and not invite me?”
“Molly,” I groaned.
“What? It’s a fair question. People do weird shit when they’re in love.”
The words hit something uncomfortable in my chest. I wasn’t in love with him. Not yet. At least, I didn’t think I was. I’d know if I loved him, right?
“Okay, so it’s not work. It’s not a secret marriage. And it’s definitely not a baby—thank God.”
“Right?” I muttered.
“So then…” her voice trailed off, expression shifting slightly. “Did Clark cheat?”
I almost choked. “Jesus, no!”
“Okay, so what is it then?”
“Nothing, honestly. I’m fine.”
I adjusted myself against the couch cushions, wincing as a dull ache rippled beneath my skin.
I wasn’t fine. I could say it a hundred different ways, dress it up in tired smiles and empty reassurances, but the truth was lodged too deep in my viscera to ignore.
My body felt more like a collection of hidden bruises than flesh and bone, a patchwork of pain stitched together by exhaustion.
I was miserable.
Every inch of me ached in ways I couldn’t talk about.
It wasn’t just the physical pain—the lingering soreness from too-tight grips and words that cut deeper than fingers ever could.
It was the exhaustion, the weight of keeping it all in, of pretending that I was okay when really, I was unravelling, thread by thread.
I shifted again, trying to find a position that didn’t hurt, but there wasn’t one. Not when the pain wasn’t just under my skin—but buried deep in my marrow.
I flicked my gaze back to the TV, pretending to focus on the scene playing out on the screen.
“Lilith.” She was staring at me now, eyes narrowed, waiting.
I exhaled and forced a smile. “I’m fine, honestly. I haven’t been sleeping well, that’s all. ”
She didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push, she just sighed, tapping her fingernail against the rim of the glass. “You’d tell me though, right? If something was wrong? If you needed me in any way?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Of course.”
Liar.
I wanted to tell her. I think. But where the hell would I even start?
How could I explain that I’d spent so much time convincing everyone—convincing myself —that Clark was good, that we were happy, only to realise I’d been lying the whole time? That I’d built him up so high in my head, admitting the truth now felt like tearing down my own foundation?
I was embarrassed. Ashamed.
Molly would tell me to leave. Just go. And I knew she’d mean it with love, with nothing but good intentions. But it wouldn’t feel like love. It would feel like judgement. Like proof that I’d been a complete idiot. That I’d walked myself straight into this, just like Evelyn had.
And I didn’t want to be her.
I didn’t want to be the woman who stayed. The one who made excuses. The one who convinced herself things would change.
I wanted to be better than her. To be stronger.
But if I left, what did that make me? A failure? A disappointment? Someone who let it happen in the first place? Someone who should’ve known better?
I didn’t know which was worse—staying and becoming her or leaving and admitting I’d been her all along.
All I knew was that I was running out of time.
Molly stretched out, glancing at her phone. “Alright, I should head out before I pass out on your couch again. You sure you’re okay?”
I nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah.”
Her lips pressed together like she knew I was bullshitting her, but she didn’t argue, just wrapped her arms around me. I bit back a wince at the pressure on my bruises, but I didn’t pull away.
When the lock clicked into place, I sank back onto the couch, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders as the silence settled in. I just sat there, staring at the muted glow of the TV, my body heavy and mind blank.
Then my phone buzzed, the faint vibration rattling against the edge of the coffee table. My lungs constricted at the sight of the notifications.
FIVE UNREAD MESSAGES.
Shit. I hadn’t looked at my phone all night.
Clark
Hey, angel. Big night tomorrow. You got your dress picked out?
Clark
Lilith?
Clark
You’re not with Molly again, are you?
Clark
Don’t ignore me.
Clark
Lilith. Answer your fucking phone.
A cold shiver skittered down my spine and I swiped the screen, rereading every message like they’d somehow change. Like if I stared hard enough, they’d shift into something softer, something sweeter.
They didn’t.
I’m not Evelyn.
I repeated it to myself like a prayer, like a mantra. Like saying it enough times would carve it into my skin, etch it into my bones, make it true.
This wasn’t the version of Clark I knew was in there.
The Clark who’d once stayed up with me all night when I was sick, running his fingers through my hair, pressing cool cloths to my forehead.
The one who’d shown up at work just to bring me coffee because he knew I was exhausted.
The one who’d pull me in closer in his sleep, tucking me against him, making sure I was warm.
It hadn’t all been bad. That was the hardest part. The most dangerous part.
Because it meant I couldn’t just write him off as a monster.
It meant I had to accept that maybe he’d really tried. That maybe he’d meant all of it. The good and the bad.
Maybe I really did want to love him one day.
And wasn’t that what love was supposed to be? Sticking through the bad? Choosing to see past the sharp edges to hold onto the good? Onto potential?
That’s what people did when they cared, right?
They forgave. They gave second chances. They tried.
One last chance.
One last damn chance.
And if he ruined it? Then I was done.