Page 104 of Break Me Open
“Good,” he murmurs. “Means I’m doing it right.” We lie there until the world starts creeping back in, the clock becomes too loud, and the morning presses in against the walls.
Dawn hasn’t reached the windows yet, but it’s close. I can feel it in my bones. The decision settles in me early, like a bullet I’ve already chosen to swallow. If I follow him to the door and watch him straighten his jacket, shoulder his bag, turn once more like he might forget something, I won’t survive it intact. So, I decide to stay where I am.
Caiden sits on the edge of the bed, his boots on now, his laces loose. It’s proof that time didn’t stop just because I wanted it to.
I lean against the wall with my arms crossed, pretending this is casual and I haven’t memorised the shape of his back in the last six hours. Pretending my chest doesn’t feel like it’s collapsing inward, like a building being taken down quietly so no one panics.
He glances over his shoulder and looks into my eyes.
There it is. That look. The one that says ‘this is it’ without saying anything at all.
“Hey,” he says softly. I nod, because I can’t trust my voice yet. He stands and steps toward me. His hand comes up, hesitates, then cups the side of my neck. I lean into it before I can stop myself. “Don’t come,” he says quietly. That nearly breaks me.
“Wasn’t planning to,” I manage. My voice sounding shaky, as if I’ve been holding it back all night. He exhales, his forehead pressing briefly to my shoulder. Then he pulls back enough to look at me properly. “Wait,” I say. I turn and grab the book on the small table by the bed. I pick it up, my thumb worrying the spine like it might betray me if I hesitate too long, and I hold it out to him.
“What’s this?” he asks, though his voice is already careful.
“You’ve seen it before,” I say. “At the cabin.”
“Your poetry book?”
“My copy,” I correct. “I took it that weekend. You didn’t think I brought it for decoration, did you?” He takes it slowly and runs his thumb over the cover.
“You’re sure?” he asks. I shrug, forcing the lightness where there isn’t any.
“I know where to find another.” That’s a lie. We both know it, but he doesn’t call me on it.I step closer and tap the edge of the book with my finger. “Page seventy.”
His eyes lift to mine. “Seventy.”
“My favourite,” I add. Something shifts in his expression. The humour drains out, it’s replaced by something softer. He nods once, like he’s storing it away somewhere important. Then he rolls it up and slides it into his back pocket.
He puts his arms around my neck and holds me.“Say it again,” he says.
“I love you,” I say, trying to keep my tone neutral.
His eyes close for a second.“I love you too,” he says back. Hearing it here, not tangled in sheets, or half-laughing, and distracted by touch, it hurts, like a hammer to my chest, trying to split me open.
My hands come up, and I grip his jacket like I might be able to anchor him here by force. I kiss him, one last time. I’mnot trying to steal time anymore. I’m just... marking the memory.He kisses me back like he understands exactly what I’m doing. When we pull apart, I rest my forehead against his. “You’re going to be fine,” he says, even though we both know that’s not what either of us is worried about.
I snort quietly. “You’re terrible at lying.”
“Yeah, I know,” he admits. That does it. I force myself to breathe through it. If I let myself say everything I’m thinking, I’ll promise something I can’t give. So, I don’t.
“Don’t be stupid,” I say instead.
“I make no guarantees,” he says, smiling. He steps back slowly, and for a second, neither of us moves. Then he turns toward the door.“Goodbye, Arseny.”
“No, no goodbyes. Skoro uvidimsya, detka.”See you soon, baby.That gets a smile out of him. A real one. It’s the one I’m going to replay permanently.
He turns, and the door opens. The cold air slips in, and I don’t move until I’m sure he’s gone. Only then do I slide down the wall and sit on the floor, my head tipped back, my eyes burning, my chest aching like it’s been hollowed out and left exposed to the cold.
I tell myself I won’t cry, I fight it so fucking hard.
It isn’t until my eyes burn and I feel the tears streaming down my face that I realise I’ve failed.
I breathe slowly through the silent, shaking sobs.
And I let it hurt.
