Chapter Fifty-Three Aurora / Joshua
Chapter Fifty-Three
Aurora / Joshua
Aurora
Friday came super quickly. I guess the universe was being kind to me because it knows that I’ve been looking forward to it since Monday.
Joshua had been busy lately, so he would either come back later, around the time I'd fallen asleep already, or be too busy to answer my messages. And that was okay. He was always busy; I didn’t overthink it.
I just hoped he would relax with me today. Me, him and Honey. Just us.
The kitchen smelled of vanilla and cocoa, warm, sweet, and familiar.
The last batch of cookies came out perfectly, a little cracked on top and gooey in the middle, and I couldn’t help the tiny smile that tugged at my lips as I slid them onto the cooling rack. Red velvet with white chocolate chips, festive, soft, a little pretty.
Maybe too pretty.
I told myself it was just a friendly thing. Just friends. He liked food, and I liked baking. That’s all.
Friends can gift friends on Valentine's Day, right? Jennie and Layla do it, they mentioned.
The cookies looked so good that even I was proud. I placed them carefully in the white box I’d found in my drawer, tied it with a red satin bow, and added a tiny handwritten tag:
“Happy Valentine’s Day from your friend.”
Corny. But sweet.
I stood there staring at the box, my heart doing this stupid little flutter like I was sixteen again and not someone who’d sworn off feelings a long time ago.
It was weird; Valentine’s Day always felt empty before. A reminder of what I didn’t have.
But this year… it didn’t feel lonely.
I checked the time; fifteen minutes early. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. I was normally early, anyway.
So I slipped the box into my bag, brushed off the flour on my cardigan, and grabbed my keys.
The elevator ride felt slower than usual, humming softly under the weight of my heartbeat.
Just a few floors up.
A few steps more.
I didn’t know why I was so nervous, like I was carrying something heavier than cookies.
The door opened with its usual quiet click.
And there he was.
Joshua Lockhart, the boy who had spent the last few weeks softening the edges of my world, one small kindness at a time.
But this Joshua… wasn’t him.
His jaw was tight, his eyes hollow, his shoulders drawn back as if he were bracing for impact. As if just seeing me there was too much.
“Hey, I came a little early but—” I said softly, lifting the small box between us, the red ribbon trembling slightly in my hand. “Happy Valenti—”
“I—”
I paused, blinking up at him as he uttered a hesitant, painful-sounding I that made my chest ache a bit, but maybe… maybe he was nervous. Maybe he wants to say something that is hard for someone like him.
Maybe something… meaningful? Something that’s been brewing between us these past weeks?
“Are you—”
“—don’t want to see your face.”
My voice died mid-word.
My fingers froze.
He said it so low, so calm, but it hit harder than any scream could. He stared right through me. Not past me, through me. Like I wasn’t even real.
“…again.”
The last word fell like glass, shattering everything inside me in an instant.
For a second, I thought I’d misheard. Maybe I imagined it, maybe it was a joke, maybe—
But then he took a step back.
And another.
And the door—our door, the one that always opened to warmth, to Honey’s tiny paws, to quiet dinners and slow laughter—slammed shut.
The sound echoed down the hallway.
I didn’t move. Couldn’t.
My hand was still outstretched, the bow on the box now trembling with me.
The air felt thick. My chest, heavier.
Something was lodged in my throat, sharp and burning, and before I could even stop it, the tears came, hot, silent, falling faster than I could wipe them away.
I didn’t even know why I was crying so hard.
Maybe because I thought he’d changed.
Maybe because I saw him change.
Maybe because this time, I actually believed him when he said I was safe with him.
And now… I wasn’t.
I hugged the box against my chest, as if holding it close would make it hurt less, but it didn’t. It just made the ache sharper.
I bit my lip, trying to muffle the sound, but it escaped anyway, a broken sob that cracked through the silence of the hallway.
My shoulders shook. My knees felt weak.
I wanted to knock again. To ask why.
To ask if it was me, or something I did, or if the friendship I thought we built was just another cruel, temporary thing.
But I didn’t.
Because when someone looks at you like that, like you’re a mistake they regret, you don’t beg for reasons. You just break quietly and walk away before they hear it.
So I stood there for a long time, crying softly into the ribbon and the cardboard, until the weight in my chest felt unbearable.
And when I finally turned to leave, the only thing I could think about was how stupid it was, how I should’ve known better.
Maybe people like him don’t stay soft.
Not for girls like me…
And girls like me… should stop expecting them to.
—
Joshua
The second the door shut, the sound felt like a gunshot.
My back hit the wood, and I slid down until I was sitting on the floor, the echo of her voice still playing in my head.
Happy Valenti—
Cut off.
Because of me.
I pressed the heel of my palm against my eyes, breathing hard.
“Fuck…” I muttered under my breath.
What the hell did I just do?
My fingers threaded through my hair, pulling until it hurt, until the sting distracted me from the ache in my chest.
I could still see her face. That tiny, soft smile she’d given me right before I broke her again. The way she held that box like it meant something. Like I meant something.
And I crushed it all with one sentence.
My throat tightened, my body shaking against the door. I wanted to run after her, to grab her wrist and take it back, to tell her it wasn’t her, it was me, it was them, it was everything.
That I didn’t mean it. That I never mean it when it comes to her. But I didn’t move. I stayed there, useless, cowardly.
Tiny footsteps padded against the floor, and I looked down.
Honey.
The little thing crept toward me, tail low, ears twitching, eyes round with worry. It hesitated for a second before curling up right against my leg, pressing its head against my foot like it could calm me down.
“Hey,” I whispered, voice cracking. I reached down and ran my hand through its fur, gently. “You shouldn’t have to see this.”
It purred, small and steady, the only sound in the penthouse that didn’t feel hollow.
I swallowed hard and leaned my head back against the door, the cool wood biting into my skull.
“I had to,” I told myself.
Over and over again.
“I had to.”
Because the more time I spend around her, the harder it gets to pretend I can handle this. Pretend I won’t ruin her again. Pretend I can be good enough.
If I pushed her away now, she could still walk. Still heal. Still find someone who won’t drag her into my kind of mess.
But the image wouldn’t leave me… her standing there, eyes wide, clutching that little white box to her chest like it was her heart she was protecting.
I broke her again.
And I didn’t even get to say goodbye.
My chest ached so badly it was hard to breathe. I bent forward, elbows on my knees, hand still shaking through my hair.
Honey purred louder, curling closer against my foot.
“Yeah,” I rasped, staring at the floor. “Me too, little one. Me too.”
I scooped Honey up, the tiny body warm against my cold hands. She meowed softly, that small, questioning sound that felt too much like her. Like Aurora.
“C’mere,” I whispered, my voice rough.
I walked toward the couch, each step heavier than the last. The penthouse felt too big again, too empty, too quiet. It hadn’t felt like this in weeks. Not since she started coming by, curling into the corner of the couch with her laptop, her voice soft and hesitant when she tried to talk to me.
Now the silence swallowed everything.
I lay down, pulling Honey close to my chest. She squirmed for a second, then settled, her soft purr vibrating against me. My hand moved automatically, stroking the fur between her ears.
She was so small.
So fragile.
So her.
I shut my eyes and felt my chest burn. Because I knew, I knew this little creature wasn’t just mine. She was ours. Aurora loved her first. She fed her first. She named her. And somehow, I stole her too.
“Guess you’re all I’ve got left of her, huh?” I muttered.
Honey’s purr deepened, and I smiled, but it was broken, a quiet, aching thing that didn’t reach my eyes.
I wanted to tell myself that I did the right thing.
That pushing her away was the smart choice.
That keeping her close would’ve ruined her more than I already have.
But that’s a lie I’ve been feeding myself for too long.
The truth is… I listened.
To everyone.
To Aly, to Jennie, to Layla, to Alex’s quiet warnings.
To every whisper that said I wasn’t enough. That I’d ruin her the way my father ruined my mother. That I’d repeat every mistake written in my blood.
And I believed them.
Because they were right.
I’m not enough.
Honey shifted on my chest, tiny paws kneading my hoodie like she was trying to comfort me. My hand trembled as I stroked the soft fur behind her ear, my throat closing in on itself.
“I love her.”
The words fell out before I could stop them.
Quiet.
Raw.
Real.
It felt foreign on my tongue, strange and almost forbidden, but God, it was true. It was so fucking true that it hurt.
Joshua Maxine Lockhart, cold, heartless bastard, every insult in the book just admitted it.
I fucking love her.
The girl I broke.
The girl I watched cry because of me and still wanted to stay. It wasn’t an obsession anymore. It wasn’t guilt, or pity, or that twisted need to protect something I didn’t deserve.
It was love.
The kind that made me want to be better, just so I could be worthy of it.
I turned my head, staring at the ceiling through blurry eyes. Every breath felt heavy, but lighter at the same time, like confessing it made it real, made it okay to feel it.
“I love her,” I whispered again, because saying it once wasn’t enough. My fingers gripped Honey’s fur tighter. “You hear that? I love your mom.”
Honey purred louder, soft and steady against me, and I let out a weak laugh through my tears.
Fuck.