Page 81 of Girl, Reformed

But with him, she was always baring herbelly. A dog crawling for scraps, so starved for connection, she'd debaseherself just to feel the heat of his hand.

Ripley held her breath, counting theseconds, the heartbeats. Waiting for the world to end, for her life to crumbleto ash and dust.

And then, with a groan of protestingmetal, the door inched open. Martin's silhouette filled the gap, backlit by thesallow light of the moon.

Mia’s heart seized in her chest. Becausethere he was. Martin. A black cut-out, featureless. But she'd know him anywhere– the angle of his jaw, the slope of his shoulders. The hands she'd kissed, thearms she'd twined herself in like climbing ivy. Her north star, her fixed pointin a mad world. He stood there with shadows in his eyes and secrets on histongue, regarding her like she was a stranger.

He didn't move. Didn't cross thethreshold, didn't come to her like he had a thousand times before. Just stoodthere guarding the gates of her own personal hell.

‘Was it you?’ The words clawed their wayout of Ripley's throat. ‘Nash, Carter, Trevor. Was it you?’

The silence stretched. Ripley could hearher own heart pounding, could feel the rush of blood in her ears like a distantocean. And then, so soft she almost missed it.

‘No.’

Just that. Flat, cold. Definitive as abullet to the brainpan.

And God help her, but some tiny,treacherous part of her wanted to believe it. To wrap herself in the worncomfort of that word, let it lull her back into the cozy fantasy of the pastfew months. The illusion of peace, of partnership, of a callused palm cuppedaround her jaded heart.

But Ripley was a hound to the bone.

She slid off the barrel, legs gone tojelly. Stumbled a step closer, fighting the urge to recoil, to retreat. Theurge to lunge at him, to bury her face in the crook of his neck and justbreathe him in.

She couldn't trust her eyes, not now.Couldn't let herself fall into old patterns, old weaknesses. So she looked downinstead, zeroed in on his hands. His thumbs.

The one infallible tell, the one chink inany liar's armor. You could school your face, your eyes, modulate your voiceinto a perfect mask. But the body had its own language, its own raw and brutaltruth.

And with one glance – even in the wake ofsuch a brief comment, even as the denial fell from his lips like poison – Miaknew that it was a lie.

‘I have to go,’ he said. Monotone, a dialtone droning. A stranger wearing her lover's skin.

And just like that, he was backing away.Fading into the dark like he'd never been, a ghost, a revenant slipping itschains.

Ripley's arm shot out on pure animalinstinct. To catch him, to claw him back, to do something more thanstand here shaking as the world tilted.

But her feet were rooted, her limbscalcified.

And so, in that moment of weakness, ofsoul-crushing doubt...Mia let him go.

Ripley sagged back against the wall, kneesgiving out in a rush. She slid to the floor. The world swam before her eyes,blurred with tears she couldn't shed, wouldn't let fall.

An engine fired up somewhere outside. Revsfollowed, and a car sped off into the night.

Some things were worth burning for, Miathought, because some stories could only ever end in flames.

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