Page 42 of The Truths We Burn

Two months I’ve spent sitting here, watching her, learning her, listening to her. Hating myself for every second I enjoy it.Why do I deserve to enjoy anything? Especially someone like Sage.

When I met her, I had the preconceived notion that she was as cruel on the inside as she was on the outside. A fun little challenge to roll around with in the sheets, a girl who would hate me as much as I hate myself.

Instead, I found a girl who’d been buried alive in the expectations of others, and every day we spend together, she uncovers herself more and more.

She’s turning into what I don’t need, making me feel things I have no right to feel.

What right do I have to see her like this? Happy, babbling on, and vulnerable. I’ve done nothing good in my life to merit this.

I did not earn happiness like this, and taking it feels wrong. It doesn’t feel right.

But giving it up, saying no to it? That feels fucking worse.

“What? What are you looking at?” she asks me, making me realize I had been staring.

“Nothing.” I shake my head. “Just selfishly glad I’m the only person who sees you like this.”

She arches one eyebrow, her freckles shifting, hundreds of them that I’d once tried counting as she fell asleep on my lap after eating an entire pizza on her own. She’s one of those people who enjoys pineapple on it, which is disgusting, but something about salty-sweet combinations is what she likes.

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

I lean forward, grabbing the back of her neck and licking the chocolate from her bottom lip that she hadn’t noticed, sucking it into my mouth to clean it. A moan comes from the back of her throat.

“Because I’d become a serial killer trying to fend off men falling in love with you.”

Those blue-flame eyes could heat an entire village with how bright they are glowing, her mouth slightly gaping at me.

It’s true—people would have to be stupid not to love this version of her, and I feel like shit that she’s giving it to me, and I’ll never be able to feel that way.

I’m not allowed to love people.

But thinking of anyone else trying?

It makes my blood sizzle.

This is mine. Her truths. Her quirks. They’re mine.

She is mine. Unable to love or not.

Her fingers press into my skin, and I hiss, “Goddamn, why are you always so cold.”

“So you can warm me up. Ya know, I’m cold, and you’re hot. It just works.”

Her phone buzzes before I can kiss her again, eyes averting to the screen. Something in her dies when she reads the text, immediately telling me it’s Easton or her parents.

“It’s just stupid shit I read on the internet, nothing important.”

She pulls away from my grip, standing up and grabbing the empty bowl that had earlier been filled with popcorn, heading to the kitchen.

My jaw sets, tension building in my chest. I watch her as I grab my Zippo, flipping it across my fingers and watching as the flame dances through.

“What did he want?” I ask, knowing it’s him.

My mouth fills with a nasty-tasting bitterness. It makes me want a smoke, to cover the annoyance building in my body.

“Wanted to know where I was. We’re supposed to meet for dinner tonight with my parents.”

I look at the blank screen, the sound of the film camera starting to itch the inside of my brain.

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