Chapter 10 #2
But she gave it to me anyway.
She sat cross-legged on the floor of her room, her back against the bedframe, fingers twitching against her notebook like she was still second-guessing whether this was a mistake. Her face was unreadable—her tell, I knew that much.
Anna wore her emotions like armor, but not this time.
This time, she was handing me something fragile.
So when she slid the notebook toward me, my stomach clenched.
I took it carefully, flipping to the page she had marked, letting my eyes move over the lyrics.
And shit.
I was right.
It wasn’t just another song.
It was her.
Every single line felt like she had pulled pieces of herself from somewhere deep, raw, real—like she had unraveled something private and laid it bare on the page.
It wasn’t perfect. The melody wasn’t locked in yet, the words weren’t as polished as they could be, but it was real. It had weight.
It made me want to hold onto it. And worse—it made me want to hold onto her.
Not as Ethan’s little sister. Not as the stubborn, sharp-witted girl always trying to keep up.
As something more.
And that scared the hell out of me.
Because she was fourteen.
And I was seventeen.
I might have been a stupid teen, but I wasn’t dumb.
I knew damn well I wasn’t supposed to be feeling like that about her.
I wasn’t supposed to feel like that. Wasn’t supposed to notice the way she bit her lip when she was thinking, or how she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was nervous. Wasn’t supposed to feel that low, sinking pull when she leaned into me, laughing under her breath as she fixed a note.
But I did.
Even though it was wrong, she became the only thing I could think about. I stopped going to Ethan’s house for him. I went, hoping he’d bail so I could spend more time with her.
I knew it couldn’t last, but I did it anyway. At least, until it became obvious I was going to get us both in deep shit.
So I did the only thing I could think of.
I buried it.
I shoved it down, locked it away, forced myself to forget it was even there.
And then I made the worst mistake of my life.
I made her believe that song—her song—meant nothing to me.
I told myself it wasn’t a big deal.
That if I played it in front of the whole school, it would mean nothing. It would turn into just another performance.
It would break whatever was happening between us before it could become something more—something worse.
And I needed that.
I needed her to hate me.
Because maybe if she hated me, I could stop hating myself for the way I had started seeing her.
So I did it.
I walked onto that stage, sat on that stool, and I played her song.
And at first, it was fine.
The auditorium was packed, students buzzing, the usual pep rally chaos filling the air. I let my fingers move over the strings, let my voice find the melody we had pieced together.
When I found her, I couldn’t help it—I poured every last feeling into it for her, knowing full well I was about to shred it all to pieces. Part of me hoped she’d feel me, though. Feel the real reason I was doing all of this.
And for one impossible second, I thought… maybe she did. Maybe she felt it too. Maybe she knew, even if I never said it out loud.
Her expression in that moment—it was open in a way I’d never seen before. Like she was waiting for something, bracing for it. Like this song meant just as much to her as it did to me.
And if I had let myself hold onto that look—if I had let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, we were standing at the edge of the same feeling—I never would have done what I did next.
Because this performance couldn’t be personal. The song wasn’t supposed to be hers anymore.
So, I turned it into something else.
And when the last note rang out, I made sure to make it loud and clear—I made sure everyone knew who it was for.
Not her.
Not the person who had poured her heart into it.
Not the person I wanted to be focusing on.
I turned my head, locked eyes with the first girl from my class I could see, Jessica Carson, and said the words like they had always been meant for her.
“Hey, Jessica. Would you wanna go to prom with me?”
The crowd erupted.
Jessica gasped, her hands flying to her mouth in that over-the-top way she did whenever she wanted attention.
And Anna—
I didn’t look at her.
I couldn’t look at her.
But I felt her.
I felt the second she realized.
The second she understood what I had done.
And then—
She was gone. Just like she had done on Valentine’s Day. Just like she had done last night.
She didn’t wait for the applause, didn’t stay to watch Jessica squeal her answer. She just turned and ran out.
And for the first time in my life, I felt like a part of myself had died.
I just sat there, let Jessica launch herself at me, let the school cheer like this was some perfect teen movie moment.
I let it happen.
Because I told myself it was for the best.
That I had done the right thing.
That nothing was ruined. It was saved.
I saved her.
That’s the lie I told myself.
But the truth? I was only saving myself.
I knew it the second I saw her the next day—the way she didn’t look at me, the way she didn’t say anything, the way something in her had gone cold.
And I knew it last night, when she walked out of Nocté—when she looked at me like I was something that had happened to her, not someone she used to trust.
And now?
Now I can’t live with it.
And I don’t know why.
I got what I wanted back then.
I wanted her hate. I just never thought she’d stop writing.
But that’s exactly what she did.
And the worst part?
I think I knew she would.
Did I destroy her to keep from wanting her?
Did I steal that part of her—so I wouldn’t have to watch her give it to someone else?
If I did, I’m an asshole.
And now? There’s nothing left but ashes. And I have to live in the wreckage.