Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
INDIGO
The night air clings to me as I stand beneath the flickering street lamp outside the abandoned train station. Malik hasn’t left. That alone sends a shiver through my body—because no one stays. Not when they learn the truth.
But he’s still here.
His pretty eyes are locked on mine, filled with something I can’t quite name. Not fear, not yet. Wariness, maybe. A slow realization that he’s just stepped into something he can’t unsee… can’t unknow. I should send him away before it’s too late, before whatever thread tethering us together snaps and wraps around both our throats. But I don’t.
Instead, I say, “Come with me.”
His brows lift. “Where?”
“Beth’s.”
He exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “You want to get food after all this?”
I shrug. “We’re going to have to continue this conversation one way or another. Might as well do it where it’s warm, and I can have a milkshake.”
For a moment, I think he’ll refuse. That he’ll shake his head, say something about needing time to think, and walk away like any sane man would. But then he nods once, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Alright.”
The diner isn’t far. It’s one of those places that’s been around forever, where the vinyl booths are cracked from years of use, and the smell of bacon grease and burned coffee has seeped into the walls. Beth is behind the counter, wiping it down with a rag that’s seen better days. She glances up as the bell jingles and gives me a knowing look. She never asks questions. I like that about her.
“Booth or counter?” she asks.
“Booth,” I say.
Malik slides in across from me, the table between us feeling too small. I keep my hands in my lap, fingers curling into the fabric of my pants as Beth pours us both coffee without asking. It’s black, no sugar, no cream. The way I like it. The way I need it.
Beth hands us menus, and I look up at her. “Milkshakes. Chocolate for me, with whipped cream and a cherry on top.” I turn to Malik. “And you?”
He thinks for a moment before replying, “Strawberry and vanilla, swirled.”
Beth returns a few minutes later with two milkshakes. She sets them down in front of us, her eyes flicking between us briefly before she leaves us.
We sip in silence, the sweetness of the shakes an odd contrast to the tension thick between us. The diner hums around us—plates clinking, the low murmur of conversation in the kitchen, the faint buzz of the neon sign outside. But in this booth, it’s just us. Just the weight of everything I’ve already laid bare.
Finally, I break the silence. “You wanted to know more.”
Malik nods, his fingers tapping once against the glass of his milkshake. “I need to understand. How did you become this?”
I let out a slow breath, my gaze dropping to the table. “My parents died when I was six. Car crash. I don’t remember much, just flashing lights and the smell of gasoline.” I pause, swallowing against the tightness in my throat. “Foster care wasn’t kind to me.”
Malik’s jaw tightens, but he says nothing, waiting for me to go on.
“I bounced from home to home. Some were okay. Most weren’t. You learn pretty quickly that no one gives a damn about a girl with no family, no money, no future.” I press my fingers against my temples, a dull ache forming behind my eyes. “There were… men. People who took things from me I couldn’t get back. People who hurt me in ways I didn’t understand until I was older.”
I don’t look up, but I hear the sharp intake of Malik’s breath. His fingers tighten around the glass of his milkshake, knuckles white.
I force myself to continue. “By the time I aged out, I had nothing. No home. No money. No one who cared if I lived or died.” I let out a bitter laugh. “So I made a choice. I did what I had to do to survive.”
Malik’s voice is low when he finally speaks. “And that led you here?”
I meet his gaze, my heart hammering. “It led me to them. People who understood. People who showed me that power isn’t given—it’s taken.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. “I’ll ask again. How many, Indigo?”
I know what he’s asking. My stomach twists, but I don’t look away. “Enough.”
“That’s not an answer.”
I take a slow sip of my milkshake, letting the chocolate sweetness coat my tongue. “I don’t count, Malik. I don’t keep track like it’s some kind of tally.” I set the glass down with a soft clink. “But I can tell you this—not one of them was innocent.”
He exhales sharply, pressing his fingers to his temple. “That’s supposed to make it better?”
“No,” I admit. “But it’s the truth.”
He looks at me for a long time, his dark eyes searching mine, and I wonder what he sees. A monster? A victim? Something in between?
Finally, he speaks. “You could’ve walked away.”
I let out a dry chuckle. “No, Malik. I couldn’t.”
Silence stretches between us. Heavy. Suffocating.
Then he asks what I’ve been dreading. “And now?”
I grip the edge of the table, my nails biting into the laminate. “Now, I don’t know.”
His eyes flick over my face, and for a moment, I see something there—something I don’t want to name. He’s still fighting it, the pull between us, the war inside his head between reason and whatever the hell this is. He should walk away.
But he won’t.
“Indigo,” he says, his voice low. Steady. “If I stay?—”
I shake my head. “Don’t make promises, Malik. Not to me.”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he reaches across the table, his fingers brushing against mine. It’s not much. Just a touch. Barely there.
But it’s enough to make my breath hitch.
His gaze darkens. “I’m not making a promise.” He leans in slightly, just enough that I can feel the warmth of him, the gravity of what’s left unsaid. “I’m making a choice.”
A choice.
God help us both.
Malik’s gaze stays on me, his dark eyes heavy with a mix of understanding and something else—something I can’t quite place, but it feels like a crack in the walls I’ve spent so long building.
My fingers tighten around the glass of my milkshake, the cold smoothness grounding me. But there’s an unease crawling under my skin, a gnawing feeling I can’t ignore. “I’m scared, Malik,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper, the words slipping out before I can stop them. “I’m scared of being alone. Of being rejected. Of… you walking away.”
The words sting as they leave my mouth, but they feel like a release. Finally, I expose a tiny sliver of truth.
His brow furrows, his jaw tight, as if my vulnerability is pulling him into a space he doesn’t want to go. His hand hovers near his milkshake, but he doesn’t touch it. “What do you mean, rejected?”
“I mean… this.” I gesture between us, my eyes flicking to our milkshakes, the tiny world we’ve built in this booth. “I don’t belong anywhere, Malik. I never have. I’ve spent my life trying to make people see me, to make them care. But I’m not like other people. I kill. I do things I can’t take back. And I do it because it gives me control. Because without it, I’m nothing.”
His voice is low, steady. “You think killing gives you control?”
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “It’s the only thing I’ve ever been able to control. Everything else—my life, my past, it’s all been out of my hands. But that... that’s mine.”
Malik’s fingers flex on top of the table, his internal battle evident in the way his gaze sharpens, almost accusing. “You don’t have to do this, Indigo. You don’t have to keep running from it.”
“I’m not running. I’m surviving,” I say, my voice a little stronger now, but the vulnerability still lingers.
Malik leans back slightly, his brow furrowing deeper, like he’s trying to piece together something he’s not ready to understand. His voice cracks with the weight of the question. “And now? What are you doing now?”
I meet his gaze, my stomach twisting. “I don’t know. I thought I had control, but… I don’t think I do anymore.”
There’s a long silence, thick with tension. His eyes burn into mine, searching for answers in a place where even I don’t have them. And then he says something I never expect. “I’m scared too, Indigo.”
The words feel like a punch, and I blink, caught off guard. “What?”
“I’m scared of what I’m becoming. Scared of how this”—he gestures between us—“is pulling me in. The things I’m feeling for you, the way you make me think, make me feel... It’s not right. I can’t trust it.”
I swallow hard, my chest tightening with the weight of his words. And yet, despite the heaviness of it all, there’s something tender there, something raw that’s unspoken. Something that’s beginning to bridge the gap between us.