Chapter Fifty-Four Aurora
Chapter Fifty-Four
Aurora
Saturday.
The morning light crawled through the blinds as if it were mocking me, soft, peaceful. Everything I wasn’t.
I lay there on my back, staring at the ceiling, the blanket tangled around my legs. I hadn’t moved in hours. Maybe I blinked once or twice. I couldn’t tell.
My chest hurt.
Not the kind of hurt that comes from crying too much or not eating enough. It was deep, right under my ribs, sharp and heavy at the same time.
I pressed my palm against it. Nothing.
I hit it once. Hard.
Then again.
And again.
“Stop,” I whispered. “Please… just stop.”
But it didn’t. It never did. It kept beating and hurting and reminding me that he said it. That look on his face when he opened the door. That coldness, the kind that didn’t sound like him anymore.
I don’t want to see your face again.
The words played on a loop in my head until I could barely breathe.
He didn’t mean it.
He couldn’t have.
Right?
But what if he did?
What if everything I thought we rebuilt—the quiet dinners, the laughter, Honey, Christmas, my birthday, the little moments that made me forget how cruel he once was—what if none of it meant anything to him?
My hand curled into a fist and hit my chest again, desperate to stop the ache spreading through me.
I wanted to cry, but I was too tired.
I wanted to scream, but the sound wouldn’t come out.
The space beside me on the bed felt too empty, too wide.
No Honey curled against my legs. No low hum of his voice teasing me. No quiet warmth of someone just being there.
Just me.
Me and the echo of what I thought we were.
I turned to the side, pulling my knees up to my chest, hugging myself so tight it almost felt like someone else could be there if I squeezed hard enough.
“Why does it hurt so much?” I whispered to no one.
Because I loved him.
I love him.
The words wouldn’t stop circling in my head.
Over and over and over again.
Like a curse I couldn’t break.
I love him.
My lips didn’t move, but my mind screamed it.
Every breath, every heartbeat, every sting behind my eyes repeated it.
I.
Love.
him.
And I didn’t even know why.
Why him? Why the boy who tore me apart and then pieced me back together with trembling hands? Why the one who made me feel safe only to destroy that safety again?
I pressed my hand harder to my chest, trying to ground myself, to force the ache to stop, but it only made it worse.
God, I still wanted him.
I wanted him to knock on my door. To show up with Honey in his arms and guilt in his eyes. To say I didn’t mean it.
To say stay.
And I’d forgive him.
I would. Because I’m stupid like that. Because loving him makes no sense, but it’s the only thing that ever felt real.
I turned onto my side, curling tighter into the sheets, whispering into the pillow, “I love you, Joshua…”
It hurt to say his name.
It hurt more to know he’d never hear it.
Maybe one day I’d stop.
Maybe one day I’d wake up, and he’d just be another lesson.
But not today.
Today, I love him. And it’s killing me.