Page 66 of Until The Lights Go Out

“I’m not avoiding⁠—”

“You are,” he cut in, “and you’re doing a terrible job of pretending otherwise.”

Silence stretched between us, thick and tense.

“And you’re hurting her again.”

I went still. “What?” I asked, quieter.

“Maisey,” he said, like it should’ve been obvious. “You think she doesn’t notice? You think she doesn’t see you skipping interviews she’s scheduled, leaving her to clean up the mess every time you don’t show?”

My chest tightened. In my own self-deprecation spiral to avoid thinking about her, I didn’t exactly consider that I was hurting her performance at her new job. Guilt trickled into the cracks of the walls I had rebuilt. I didn’t want my shitty feelings toward the world to affect her. I never wanted that.

“That’s not⁠—”

“It is,” he said firmly. “Whether you mean to or not, that’s exactly what you’re doing.”

I shook my head, running a hand through my hair, trying to slam the emotions back down. “That’s not my problem.”

The words felt wrong the second they left my mouth.

Sebastian’s expression darkened. “Not your problem?”

“I didn’t ask her to⁠—”

“To what?” he challenged. “To do her job? To be there? To care?”

I clenched my jaw. “Don’t twist this.”

“I’m not twisting anything,” he said. “I’m telling you the truth that you’re trying very hard to ignore.”

I laughed under my breath, but there was no humor in it. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then explain it to me,” he said. “Because from where I’m standing, you had one good weekend where you actually showed up—for her, for yourself—and now you’re back to this: drinking, disappearing, shutting everything out like you always do.”

I looked away, staring at the wall because it was easier than looking at him. Easier than admitting he wasn’t entirely wrong.

“You think pushing her away is helping?” he continued, quieter but no less intense. “You think this version of you is somehow better for her?”

My throat tightened. Because that was exactly what I’d been telling myself.

That distance was safer. That if I kept things shallow, if I didn’t show up, didn’t engage, didn’t let anything real take root—then I couldn’t hurt her the way I knew I was capable of.

But hearing Sebastian say it out loud, it sounded harsh and damaging. “I’m not—” I started, then stopped.

Sebastian watched me carefully. “You’re not what?”

I exhaled slowly, dragging a hand over my face. “I’m not good for her.” The words came out rough, quieter than I intended.

“So your solution is to prove that by acting like an asshole?”

I let out a hollow laugh. “At least it’s honest.”

“That’s not honesty,” he said. “That’s self-sabotage.”

I shook my head. “You don’t get it.”

“Then help me understand,” he pushed.