7. Lilith
CHAPTER SEVEN
F uck, I was tired.
Not the kind of tired that sleep could fix. Not the kind that strong coffee and a day off could touch. This was bone-deep, settled into me like an old tenant refusing to pack their stuff and move out.
I hadn’t physically exerted myself, but I felt like I’d run a marathon.
Curling deeper into the corner of the couch, I pulled the blanket tighter around my legs, the soft hum of the TV barely registering as background noise.
“You could at least pretend to care,” I muttered, glancing over to Katniss who was sprawled beneath her heat lamp.
She didn’t move.
I sighed. “Right. Emotional support lizard, my ass.”
Life had been a relentless shitstorm, throwing me one thing after another with no sign of letting up.
The whole mess with Clark had only escalated.
At first, it was direct. Blatant. He showed up at the bookstore in the first week after the gala with the same old tired script.
Apologies, excuses, pleas for a second chance.
I’d frozen like a deer in headlights, but Molly had squared up to him, and he’d left. Hadn’t shown his face since.
Instead, the gifts had ramped up. But not in his usual over-the-top, look-at-me bullshit style.
This time, they were calculated. Less grandstanding, more subtle manipulation.
Smaller, sneakier things. Little offerings left on my doorstep—lattes, croissants, what looked like handpicked flowers, the works.
He’d even gone as far as to drop off a first edition of The Secret History—my favourite book.
He’d probably broken into a cold sweat typing the title into a search bar.
And let’s not forget the literary quotes tucked into each gift, like he’d suddenly morphed into Lord Byron. This was the man who needed a teleprompter just to string together coherent sentences on-air, and now he was quoting the greats? Next joke.
Then four days ago, he’d taken it a step further by having lunch delivered for both me and Molly. I’d trashed it without second thought and headed out to buy my own. Only for some freak to then grab me in the middle of the street. Broad daylight. No explanation—just one word.
‘Bike.’
That was it. No context. No follow-up. Just that single, bizarre word before I put as much distance between us as possible, and booked it back to the store, moving fast but careful not to look like I was running and screaming on the inside.
When I told Molly the whole thing, she just laughed.
“I mean, was he at least hot?”
I scowled, but my brain betrayed me with a vivid flash of the guy—tall, broad-shouldered, face half hidden beneath a hood and a scarf. But his eyes…
Dark brown. The kind of brown that looked almost gold, like whiskey catching fire.
I hated that I’d noticed that.
Molly’s grin stretched wide. “Oh my God, he totally was. Tell me, tell me, tell me.”
“You’re missing the entire point,” I grumbled, but I told her all about it.
And then she was off, spinning it into some ridiculous enemies-to-lovers plot in her head while I tried—and failed—not to think about those stupid, pretty, stupid eyes.
But pretty-eye-bike-guy and Clark’s bullshit had surprisingly been the least of my worries.
Shipments had arrived late at work, sending my manager into a meltdown, which meant the entire store suffered.
Then the author we had scheduled for a reading never showed, leaving an entire room of disappointed customers.
Molly and I had been forced to scramble, throwing out impromptu book recommendations, and handing out free bookmarks and limited-edition pins just to avoid a riot.
It’d been exhausting. Everything had been exhausting.
A sudden bang against the door split through the quiet, sharp enough to drag me back to the surface.
Every nerve sprang to life on high alert.
The knock came again, louder this time.
“Lils, come on!”
Clark. Of course it was Clark. Speak of the damn devil.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
I swallowed hard, willing the bile that was rising in my throat to go back down, but my body had already decided we were in full fight or flight mode.
The problem? I didn’t have anywhere to run, and my best self-defence move was passive-aggressively sighing at people until they left me alone.
Another knock—harder this time, more impatient.
“Lilith. ”
In for four. Hold for four. Out for four.
I didn’t want to open it. Every part of me screamed not to do it, but I knew Clark. If I didn’t answer, he’d keep pounding. He’d start yelling. And if that didn’t work? He’d break the door down.
So, begrudgingly, I pushed myself up. The second I turned the lock, he shoved his way inside.
“Lilith!”
What fresh hell was this?
By the time I’d shut the door, he was already sprawled on the couch.
Legs spread, one arm thrown lazily over the backrest, sinking into the cushions like he was settling in for the night.
The blanket I’d been wrapped in minutes ago sat crumpled beside him, and something about that—the sight of him back in my safe space, made my stomach turn.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I asked.
“We need to talk.” His voice was smooth, like he thought this was some casual conversation.
I crossed my arms, planting my feet firmly where I stood. “We have nothing to talk about.”
“Come on, Lilith,” he said, flashing that easy, practiced smile that’d once worked on me. “I’ve given you enough time and space to cool down.”
I let out a short laugh. “No, you haven’t.”
I raised a hand, ticking off fingers as I went.
“First of all, the gifts — those weird, manipulative, guilt-trippy little deliveries? Yeah, not exactly giving me space.” I lifted another finger. “Secondly, what exactly am I supposed to be ‘cooling down’ from? We’re done. Period.”
“What gifts?” he said, brows knitting together, feigning confusion like he hadn’t been sending them every damn day.
Before I could even open my mouth, he waved a dismissive hand.
“Would you please sit down, Lilith?”
My body moved before my brain caught up, sinking stiffly into the armchair across from him, arms folded tight. The second I hit the cushions, I knew I’d fucked up. I’d engaged. Given him the illusion that there was something here worth discussing.
“Look,” he began, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “I know I’ve been a little out of line lately.”
A little out of line? That was how he was describing it? Like the months of emotional gaslighting and tearing me down were just a minor lapse in judgement? Like physically bruising me multiple times were just oopsy-daisy moments?
“You’ve got to understand, Lilith. You can be a bit… sensitive sometimes. I didn’t mean to upset you. You just overreact. A lot. ”
My heart thudded in my throat. He was already twisting the truth, trying to rewrite the narrative right in front of me.
“And honestly,” he continued. “You’ve been acting a little crazy lately. You know that, right?”
Crazy.
He sighed dramatically, shaking his head like I was the exhausting one. Like I was the problem.
“You stormed out of the gala over nothing,” he said, his tone sharpening. “Which by the way, was completely embarrassing for both of us. You’ve been ignoring me for weeks. You blocked my damn number. That’s not fair, Lilith.”
His eyes narrowed slightly as rage simmered through my flesh. What, was he waiting for an apology?
“You’re just so negative,” he added. “You turn everything into some dramatic ordeal. You make things so much harder than they need to be. I mean, if you think about it, with the way you were behaving, it was kind of your fault.”
“This is your fault!”
I flinch, shrinking back, pressing myself into the wall as her voice lashes against me.
“It’s always your fault! If you’d do as you were told the first time, he wouldn’t do this! Don’t just sit there shaking, you were asking for it!”
No. Screw this. This wasn’t happening.
I wasn’t a defenceless child anymore. I wasn’t a little girl at the mercy of a full-grown man. I wasn’t going to let Clark warp the truth, twisting my emotions into something irrational because it made him feel better.
I was trembling as I straightened my spine, but my voice didn’t waver. “You’ve been nothing but rude and condescending to me. And you hurt me. I don’t want to hear your excuses. I don’t want you here. I don’t want you in my life anymore.”
His expression shifted into a look I knew too well. It was the same one Wayne wore whenever I pushed back, spoke too loud, or took up too much space. The subtle clench of the jaw, the slow, measured exhale through the nose. The calculated patience meant to make me feel small, irrational, wrong.
“Lilith, you’re not thinking clearly. You never do.”
I pushed up and strode to the door, hands shaking as I curled my fingers around the handle and pulled it open, gesturing toward the night air. “You can leave now.”
He stood slowly, smoothing down the front of his shirt as he stepped forward. But instead of heading out the door, he backed me into it until it clicked shut.
My breath caught, spine pressing into the wood, every nerve screaming danger.
“You don’t see it because you’re upset,” he said, his hand coming up to brush the side of my cheek. “But we’re perfect together. You and me? We work.”
I swallowed hard, my jaw locking .
“You make me better, Lils. I make you better. This—” he motioned between us, “this is what you need. What we both need.”
Any second now, my dinner was going to do a dramatic reappearance, right onto his overpriced, pretentious-ass shoes.
“I love you, Lils.”
Oh hell no.
A cold, hollow laugh escaped my lips. “Love me?” I echoed. “Clark, you don’t even like me. Get out.”
“Angel, come on—”
“Get the fuck out. Now!”
I braced for the impact. Waiting for the inevitable burn of a slap or a grab.
But it didn’t come.
Instead, he stepped back, his face twisting into something vile. “Fine,” he spat. “But don’t you dare come crawling back when you realise no one else will put up with you.”
The words should’ve hurt. Maybe once, they would have. Maybe once, I would have believed them. But now, they just sounded desperate.
“Move.” He said.
I shifted out of the way, and he yanked the door back open, stepping out without another glance, slamming it behind him.
My body snapped into action. I spun, hands trembling as I locked the deadbolt, snapped the chain into place, double-checked both, and pressed my palm against the door.
Tears burned in my eyes, but not from fear.
Not from him.
Not from his words.
Because I’d done it.
I’d stood my ground. He was gone.