Chapter 14
By the time I get to the fire, the circle is already formed and full.
Everyone's laughing, loud and loose, and Ben's there, sitting between a guy I don't know and a girl who definitely wants to know him, and he's talking with his hand like he always does.
Not over the top. More like he's convincing someone of something because that's what he does—he convinces and persuades and draws you in without even blinking.
And his smile's back, which I should not care about but apparently, I do because my chest goes light.
So light that I get annoyed at myself.
He looks up, catches me, and crooks his fingers at me, like come here. I shake my head, give him a little it's fine hand flick and sit across the fire instead, like the good girl I'm pretending to be.
He frowns, just for a second, but sharp enough to let me know he doesn't like it.
But after earlier—my hand on his back, which was nothing, it meant nothing, except maybe it didn't, maybe it did—well, this feels safer.
Paul and Mara are plonked in the circle right between us. Mara sits on top of Paul, the two of them constantly kissing despite her feather crown jabbing his eye. Comforting—someone making their intention obvious.
I turn to the girl next to me, Ananya, who tells me about her dream to open a cat café, which sounds sweet, so I smile until she gets up, goes for the big clay bowl with a ladle and when she comes back, it lands straight in my lap.
"Today," she says, smiling at the group, "we share what's been on our hearts."
And just like that, my smile falters.
Everyone's eyes are on me as I grip the ladle tightly.
I don't do unscripted vulnerability. For me, small talk comes with prep-talk and I'd rehearse flow state if that was possible.
I take a quick sweep around to gauge how bad it would be if I just ran for it. Then take a deep breath.
I came here for a reason, didn't I? I have to try to let go.
The cacao hits my tongue, tasting like soil dressed up as medicine, and I stall on the sip, while everyone's patiently waiting.
There are about ten heartstrings I could pull from, from childhood all the way to the present day, but I'm not masochistic enough to unravel any of them, so I keep it neat the way I always do.
"I wish I could duct-tape my thoughts sometimes, just go with the feeling, instead of overthinking every damn thing."
"That's beautiful. Why don't you?" Ananya asks.
I wasn't really expecting a follow up, but decide to answer anyway.
"I didn't grow up trusting myself, because my mother..." The word snags like barbed wire in my throat. No. Can't go there.
Ben's jaw tightens when he sees me struggling, so I take a deep breath and look down.
"I grew up second-guessing everything, and the one time I went with the feeling, it wrecked me," I say. "Wrecked other people, too. So now I don't trust myself. Not really."
"That's okay, babe," Mara calls. "You can start little by little. See what it does."
"Yeah, but those little by little moments usually lead to a major disaster then," I try to joke, but it comes out pathetic. "It sucks when you want to do good and you end up messing up."
"What is the most recent time you regretted going with your head instead of your heart?" Paul asks.
Quiet Paul, who usually listens and doesn't meddle in people's business is suddenly cross-examining me.
I squint at him because I swear he knows something.
Ben and he are like glued at the hip, so I bet he wants me to say it for his brother's sake.
Should I? Say it? The way it is? Maybe it's time I do.
I clear my throat, scratch away the safe lie before it has a chance to protect me, and look at Ben, who's intently watching me.
I look away from him so I can say it. "I... Something happened about three years ago. I left someone. Someone who was... very important to me. We never spoke again. I moved on without even trying to understand. Maybe... maybe I'd do that differently today."
"What would you do?" Paul asks.
"I think, at least listen. I think some people, no matter how angry they make you, deserve to be heard before you shut the door. If you know they meant a lot to you, give them a chance to speak, or say goodbye."
I close my eyes, feeling the weight of what I admitted and let my hands land on the rim of the bowl.
The bowl. Pass the bowl. Pass it. Pass it. Before it's too late.
I thank everyone and pass it to Ananya.
Everyone thanks me back, like I've given them something solid, not just fuzzy edges and half-truths.
One by one, everyone spills their own hearts, and I'm listening to everyone missing someone, everyone thinking they did the wrong thing, everything being beautifully human. For a second, it feels safe.
Until my gaze drifts across the fire.
Ben's absentmindedly staring into the flames.
Three more people and then it's his turn.
The more I watch him, the more it's evident that something's going on. I wonder if it's because of what I said?
I wave low by the ground, trying to catch his attention, but he's too caught up in his head.
The guy next to him finishes and when he notices Ben's out of it, he clears his throat.
"What's on your heart, brother?"
Ben looks at him blankly and mutters, "Thanks, brother." Takes the bowl and stares at it for a good half a minute.
Mara shoots me a questioning glance.
When I shrug, she calls over the fire, "B?" and Ben blinks back to reality.
His eyes instantly land on me. "I'd like to be really honest."
Oh no. I know that tone...
They say there are three kinds of truths. The first is easy and you toss it jokingly at brunch. The second you admit after someone else goes first. And then there's the nuclear truth—the one you're sure would tilt the axis of the world and make you instantly unlovable if someone knew.
Ben looks like he's holding that third kind in his mouth.
"Do it," Paul urges him. "Unleash it."
A chorus rises, egging Ben on. "Truth and nothing but the truth!"
Ben doesn't even pour the cacao before he speaks, his voice heavy.
"I've made plenty of mistakes. Spent my whole life trying to be the good guy.
Hell, I think I even pulled it off once or twice, but the truth is.
.. I'm not as good as I told myself because—" He drags in a long breath.
"I married someone to forget someone I can't."
For a beat, there's only silence.
My whole body just... stops. Everything, except for the goosebumps swarming up my spine.
I catch Mara in my periphery, her eyes fixed on Ben, stunned.
Paul's not at all shocked like everyone else—he's smiling.
Then Mara smiles victoriously too, like she'd been waiting for this exact sentence and can't believe it finally arrived.
Ben's jaw locks but he nods like he's glad he finally said it out loud.
And me? I sit here, mouth parted, refusing to close until things make sense.
Because you don't lob a bomb like that at a campfire with strangers around—not if it's untrue. Which means it is true and he doesn't love Lisa. And I can't decide if that makes it better or so much worse.
"It's fine, man. Sometimes life's messy," the guy next to him says, clapping his shoulder.
"True," Ben says flatly.
"Does she know?"
"Yeah... I think she knows..."
Paul and Mara look at me, just a quick flick before she looks at Ben, and her face falls a little. "B?"
He gives her a brief, tight smile. "Yeah?"
Something unspoken passes between them two as I stare at Ben, and it's not just the words, but the urge to hold him—especially since he's talking about me, that gets me.
Everything rushes into my throat, squeezing it tightly until I spring up, too fast and ungraceful.
I don't wait for permission and walk out, gaze pinned to the ground, even though I can feel everyone's eyes following me.
The voices blur into static until it's just me and my own harsh and ragged breath.
That's when the tears come—a tidal wave ripping through me, wringing my heart dry because it's exhausted. God, it's exhausted from bottling everything up.
I don't even know who I'm crying for. Me? Richard? Ben? All of us?
I keep walking until the lights fade behind me and I'm somewhere in the desert, where there's just the kind of silence that feels like punishment.
Why did I even come here? I knew it was a stupid idea.
"Okay, Emma. It's alright. Calm down," I whisper, sniffling, talking to myself as if that ever works.
Then I look up, and the sky—the sky is bleeding.
Long streaks of purples and bruised peaches fading into ash, like a painting. I haven't seen a sunset this hauntingly beautiful in years.
I huff a broken laugh. It feels as though the universe is watching me fall apart and testing how deep I'll go.
I can go deeper; I'm a master at it.
I stare at it for I don't know how long, tempted to fall in the sand and become a statue. And just as I'm about to lose myself in it completely—
"Emma!" Ben's voice pulls me back to the present.
He's walking toward me in long strides, wind tugging at the back of his shirt like it's trying to bring him closer and he's carrying my shoes.
I glance down. Oh. I've been barefoot this whole time.
When I face him again, I brace.
For what? A speech? A confession? A thousand things I cannot handle right now because I'm a mess and I can't take another wound, and I might collapse if he reaches for me?
Instead, he drops to one knee silently, and his palm slides under my ankle to slip my shoe on. Then the other one.
I watch the way he moves, unrushed, careful, his big palm under my foot, and my throat catches because no one, not even my mother, ever touched me this gently.
I wipe my face into my sleeve, so he doesn't see me ruined, even though it's too late, and croak, "You didn't have to."
"I know, but I wanted to," he says, standing up, almost toe-to-toe with me. His eyes skim my tear-streaked face, and then—his pinky hooks mine.
I blink down at it, then up at him, my voice breaking. "I'm not in the mood for a pinky swear. Our pinky swears suck ass, anyway."