Page 24 of Don’t Let Him In

I know how ridiculous this sounds.

Yet I don’t leave.

Manson steps ahead of me, weaving his way further inside. Unable to look away from his back, pressure gathers in the pit of my stomach as I fall into step behind him. Holding my fists at my sides, I grind my teeth as my gaze drifts to Dax, forcing every bitter accusation back behind lips thinned with rage. Hurt. It’s all the same.

They can’t hear anything I say anyway.

The realization fills my mouth with a sour, tainted flavor so potent I nearly feel it corroding the lining of my throat, searing a path downward.

Near one of the rusted windows at the far end of the room, Blair stands facing him, arms drawn tight over her chest, glaring at Dax as he crosses to the fireplace, cheeks tear-streaked with ruinous salt and mascara flakes.

Instead of diminishing her, it somehow manages to make her appear even more striking.

Jealousy worms its way inside of me, instantly licking up the moisture from my eyes. I might’ve found a smidge of sympathy for her under another circumstance, but I can’t even look her square in the face without finding her inextricably bound to Dax’s betrayal.

Part of me wonders if he’s dismissed her like this before, if they’ve had their fair share of arguments the way he and I had. If the vitriol in his voice ever got damning enough to have her reconsider her life choices, only to watch herself stay when every shred of pride demanded otherwise. Judging by the look of it, I'd say this wasn’t her first time.

They’d been at this for a while.

Anguish cracks open inside me, the pain inconsolable. How could he have done this? How have I been so stupid? So blind.

Thumbing down his lighter like he so often did when under stress, he lights the cigarette between his lips, the brief flare casting long shadows across the walls before fading as he takes a drag, letting the smoke sit in his lungs for a moment before exhaling. The air turns heavy, even more suffocating as it fills with smoke and ash and inevitable heartbreak that I’ve carried with me for years.

Small remnants of a once shared history intrude my mind, one where I’m perched on his lap, sneaking a drag of his cigarette after diffusing an outburst sparked by an unannounced visit in the dead of night. He always hated my spontaneity. I’d always thought it was because he worried about me. That he just cared about how I’d deal with the fallout once I dragged myself back home the next morning, but I now understand the fuel behind his agitated scolding was driven by something far more calculating…

Menacing.

I was just too foolish to realize it then. That or I’d been too cornered by the despair and faraway dreams to examine the cracks in the one thing that was keeping me afloat.

Probably the latter, but I didn’t want to admit it to myself. Not even now. Especially not now.

Blowing out a billow of smoke, he pivots around to face her again, but he doesn’t grace her with a reply just yet. He lets the silence fester first, stretching it until the soundlessness begins to crackle in my ears, a warning before the storm.

Once he lowers his arm, he speaks with a controlled tone, but I can still make out the censure creeping into it. “Maybe I made a mistake coming out here.”

“What?” Blair responds with a horribly disguised grimace, face scrunching and nose twitching as she desperately holds back a sob.

“I risk so much for you. Stayed out this late for you.”

“Dax, please⁠—”

His tongue is sharp, flicking out with vengeance. “Don’t.”

Watching her eyes brim with unshed tears, I can almost see my former self reflected back at me. Completely spineless and pathetic. A knot visibly forms in her throat as she forces down a hesitant swallow, the protest dying before she has the chance to breathe life to it.

Jaw hard, nose flaring, Dax releases a careless shake before taking another drag of his damned cigarette. “You remind me so much of my ex when you get this way.”

My spirit withers, mouth souring again.

Still entrenched in my sorrow, I’d hardly noticed when Manson slipped out of view. Leaning against the soot-darkened mantel, his gaze holds mine hostage until Blair’s choked sob breaks it apart. “Oh, God!”

“What now?”

“T-that candle behind you,” she struggles to say. “It moved.” Stumbling backward, her chest heaves as her gaze remains fixed on the stubby, wax-dripped candle perched beside Manson.

Dax groans, dragging a hand down his face before glancing over his shoulder toward the mantle. Finding nothing out of place, he lets out a derisive scoff and grinds the cigarette into a chipped ceramic ashtray beside the candle. “I should’ve never brought you here.”

She flinches, but she quickly follows, batting away the moisture pooling behind her eyes. “I’m not crazy.”