Page 98 of Her Sloth

“Exactly, not that I can’t do anything on my own.”

The elevator doors open.

“Shut up and let me do this,” she says, pressing the only button in the private elevator.

“Cass,” I say. “There is nothing you have to make up for.”

“There is,” she says.

“No,” I say and turn to her. “You walked away from emotion. I ran into death. We did the best we could.”

Her hand wanders up to my face.

Stops.

She doesn’t dare touch me because of all the wounds I must have. I have refused to look in a mirror, but I know people tiptoe around me, most of all, her.

She removes her hand.

I grab it.

Move it closer to my face.

She lets me, reluctantly.

I bring her palm to the side of my face, not breaking the gaze into my eyes.

“It’s okay,” I say.

“Are you sure?” she asks, looking at me with her round eyes.

“I am,” I say and guide her hand onto the skin. It is a strange feeling. I still have tingling fingertips and the skin on that side of my face with the grafts feels slightly numb, and yet, this moment⁠—

I let her in.

I let her in after everything that happened.

And this here, this is us.

Messy.

Fucked up.

But we’re here.

Both of us.

The elevator bings, bringing this moment to an end.

We let go of each other and get out into the suite—a suite that reminds me of everything that happened.

I stop.

“What?” she asks immediately.

I don’t answer. Instead, I stare into the void as I suddenly remember Lilian words.

‘You were never meant for this world. I still remember the day we first met. You had this light in your eyes when we talked about the cars. I envied you for the love you had for them. You lost your spark. That’s what this world does.’