Chapter 35 Eden
Chapter thirty-five
Eden
“Beautiful Collateral”
The motel room was too quiet. Halo had gone out hours ago.
He hadn't offered to tell me where, and I hadn’t asked.
I didn’t know if I wanted to know. There was so much distance between us now.
Not just physical, but emotional and moral.
I had distanced myself from him as much as I could, and he let me.
It was killing me, because I had feelings for him that had hooks in my skin.
I couldn’t shake it. I had worked so hard to get over his walls, and now that I was inside… I was clawing to get back out.
The bathroom light buzzed softly. I was curled up at the edge of the bed, chewing the skin near my thumbnail until it burned.
I was restless and sick at the same time, wound up with anticipation for…
something. I hated this silence. It pressed in too tightly, like it was listening to all of my trauma and using it against me.
My eyes drifted to the table. His jacket was still there, along with his handgun and one of his phones. Not his regular one, one of those cheap black throwaways: a burner. No lock screen, no case, no fingerprint ID.
I knew I shouldn’t, but I reached for it anyway.
I just wanted to understand – that’s what I told myself.
I wanted something real from him, because I didn’t know if I believed him or not.
I didn’t know if I could trust anything that came through Halo’s mouth.
His words were too careful and too clean.
I didn’t want pieces, silence, pain wrapped in protection and called love.
I wanted something he hadn’t filtered for my consumption. I felt like he was manipulating me.
The messages were short. The most recent string was to and from ‘Matteo’.
HALO: It’s done.
(3 Images Attached)
I tapped, and the room felt like it tilted sideways.
The photos opened one by one. They were of a woman that…
Jesus, she looked so much like me at a glance.
Her face was fucked up: swollen, bruised, bleeding.
A hand was in the image, holding her face forward for the camera, then tilting down so you could see the gunshot wound on her skull. It was Halo’s hand, I knew it was.
My chest tightened. What the fuck? What the actual fuck? Who was this girl? I scrolled up, skimmed the messages, and my heart sank. Matteo thought that girl was me.
I was still staring at the screen when I heard the door open. Boots on tile, then the soft clink of metal.
I looked up as Halo stepped in, his frame a dark silhouette in the doorframe, masked in black fabric and sweat.
He paused when he saw me with the phone in my hands.
His gloved fingers reached up slowly and peeled the mask off his face.
His skin underneath was damp, his jaw shadowed with stubble. His expression was still unreadable.
My voice barely worked. “…Halo? What is this?”
His eyes locked on mine. In the half-darkness, I could see something flicker in them, but it wasn’t surprise or guilt.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice cracked.
I stood up slowly, holding the phone out like it might burn me. “Who was she?”
“Give me a second to explain.”
“You sent that Matteo guy pictures of her, pretending she was me. Did you kill her, Halo?”
“Yes.”
It was the honesty that almost destroyed me. No apology, no performance, just the brutal truth. I laughed. It was hollow and shaking. “Jesus Christ.”
“You don’t understand. I needed time. Matteo wanted you dead, and I thought if he believed she was you, he’d back off long enough for me to get to him. I never meant for it to get this far.” His voice cracked again. “I never meant for you to—”
“Stop telling me what I do and do not understand, Halo. I understand exactly what is going on.” I couldn’t hear another word. My eyes flicked to the gun on the table, and before I could think about it, I crossed the room. My hand wrapped around it. It was heavy and cold in my hands.
Halo froze. “Put it down, Eden.”
I stared at the gun for a moment, and Halo took another step towards me.
“Give it to me.”
I didn’t point it at him; I pointed it at myself, and his entire face changed.
“I don’t want anyone else to die for me,” I said. My voice was cold, shaking, distant from my body. “Not Matteo. Not you. Not whoever she was. I won’t be part of it.”
“Put it down.” His eyes were wide now. That terrifying calm of his was gone. He looked shattered; for the first time he looked real.
“I’m not doing this again,” I said. “Being turned into someone’s reason for bloodshed. I didn’t ask for that. I didn’t ask for any of this. I can’t be your excuse for more violence, more death.”
“I’m begging you,” he said, his voice breaking entirely. “Please.”
He dropped to his knees right there on the ugly motel carpet, his hands half-raised, like any wrong move might shatter me. I had never seen him like that.
“What are you doing?” he whispered.
“I want you to feel what it’s like… being at the mercy of something you love.”
He was crying. Not sobbing, but I saw the wet gleam slip past his lashes. He was breaking open for me, and it still hurt more than everything else. The tips of his raised fingers quivered.
“Please,” he whispered again, “I don’t know how to protect you without becoming the thing you’re scared of. I don’t know how to stop.”
I fell to my knees in front of him, and the gun slipped from my fingers.
It thudded to the floor. I couldn’t breathe.
He crawled toward me, gently, like I was made of glass and thorns.
His arms wrapped around me hesitantly at first, then it was crushing.
My body shook inside his and I buried my face into him as I sobbed so hard that I felt like I was dying.
He said nothing, but in the silence that followed, I heard everything I needed to.