Page 39 of Between Dusk and Dawn

He paused. "I don’t know."

I scoffed. "I somehow don’t believe that. You seem to know every minute detail about me but my scars…?" He had to have known. It was written in every paper. Although I was a minor back then and the papers never published my name, he had to have figured it out.

"I didn’t want to be invasive. I thought that was something you’d want to tell me."

"Not invasive?" I laughed.

Sighing deeply, I tried to ground myself in the present, aware that the moment was slipping away. "I'm just drained, you know?" I confessed, my gaze meeting his eyes as he leaned in, displaying genuine interest in what I had to say. "Tired of being the easy target, the girl who's taken advantage of because she's desperately trying to fit into everyone else's mold. Sick of being haunted by my own dreams, driving me to drown my fears in the bottom of a bottle every damn night."

I paused, taking a moment to connect with him on a deeper level. "I'm exhausted from being the one everyone despises. Whether it's because I seem like a tryhard misfit or get dragged into this vortex of revenge, like with your sister, I end up playing the role of the heartless bitch, and truth be told, I despise the person I've become. I hate that I'm now just a hollow version ofmyself, standing here exposed while self-loathing consumes me from within."

"I like you for who you are," he mumbled, but I heard every word.

"You don't know me, Walsh. We met once. We hooked up when you were dating my roommate." I sighed, remembering that part of my life. "Before you met her, that was the person that I loved being. I was popular, but when she went missing, I became obsessed with trying to right a wrong. You ruined the life I’d worked so hard to live, because everyone was so sad about Cagen’s mystery that they forgot about me. I wasn’t invited to her freaking funeral. I was her roommate."

"Because you were someone you weren't."

"Fuck." I jumped out of the chair and screamed, "You don't listen. I am trying to tell you. You. Do. Not. Know. Me." No one knew me, not even myself.

He savored another sip of his wine before placing the glass back down and rising from his seat. He approached me, my hands shaking at my sides as his fingers intertwined with mine, his touch feeling like an embrace. Time had come to a standstill, the clamor of thoughts in my mind and the persistent ache of self-doubt fading into a hushed background melody.

If his touch could weave such soothing magic, I could only imagine the symphony of emotions and solace he held within.

"I'm depressed," I whined as his chest drew near. Our breaths, like ethereal whispers, synchronized, creating a delicate dance of shared vulnerability.

My words held the weight of the world. My chest constantly felt like it was caving in, and the only time I got a reprieve was when I was doing yoga or working obsessively with some new hyperfixation I had.

It consumed me. I was exhausted most days. A monster lived inside of me, one who ate my soul and spat out a horrible human being. I tried to tame it, but it was so fucking exhausting.

"I know," he murmured, dropping his head into my hair and inhaling deeply.

"I hate looking in the mirror. Ask me why," I whispered.

"Why, Muse?"

I flinched at the familiar nickname. "Because I despise the reflection of who I am. I don’t know what I am supposed to look like or become." I also hated the way my physical scarring reminded me of my past.

"I know," he repeated.

His kindness unfolded, catching me off guard. He withdrew from our shared embrace, his eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that seemed to pierce through the veil of my vulnerability. A warmth, so unfamiliar from his usual cool demeanor, emanated from his gaze.

He lifted a hand to cradle my cheek, the touch carrying an unexpected softness. It felt like the first rays of dawn, breaking through the darkest night.

His thumb traced a gentle semicircle along my cheekbone. It was as if, for that fleeting moment, he had stepped out of the shadows and allowed me a glimpse to a side of him obscured by the complexities of our shared history.

"I've watched you struggle," he spoke, his voice a soothing murmur. "And it's time for you to break free from the chains that bind you."

The vulnerability he displayed, so contrary to his usual self, left me both bewildered and captivated.

"And how am I supposed to do that?" I said, grabbing onto his hand as it paused on my cheek.

"Marry me," he whispered.

I stopped to think about it. Even if it was barely for a second, the thought of our life together fluttered through my head like a quick movie. We could be happy. He could protect me, but we were toxic for one another. His sister, her fiancé, and probably everyone else in his family despised me. There was just no world where we were good together.

"No." Just as the word escaped my mouth, his touch burned my cheek. I pushed him away, turning toward my bed and regretting how small this place felt all of a sudden.

"I am not asking, Madison. I am telling you to marry me." Ah. There was the stoic man I knew.

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