Page 69 of When Death Whispers

“I didn’t ask for this,” I say, softer now. “But you’re right. I didn’t stop him either. So yeah… I guess that makes me as fucked up as I’ve always felt.”

Hudson says nothing. His eyes are glassy, unreadable, his mouth pressed into a hard line.

I wrap the blanket tighter around myself, suddenly freezing. “Do you even realize what just happened? We were pulled into a dream that was real. That place—the Evergloom. It wasn’t just in my head. And all you care about is whether or not I liked being railed by a monster.”

He closes his eyes, shaking his head like he can’t bear to hear any more.

“You almost died, Hudson,” I whisper. “Because of me. You should be mad at that. Not this.”

When he doesn’t answer, when he just stands there—silent and hurt and burning—I feel something fracture inside me.

“God, what are we even doing?” I mutter, turning away. “You don’t belong in this. You never did.”

His head snaps up. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true,” I whisper, throat tight. “You’re not built for this, Hudson. You’re not made for monsters. And you definitely weren’t made for a girl like me. You were meant for someone who can give you normalcy… Someone like… Jenna.”

My voice almost breaks on the name, the idea more hurtful than I expected. My eyes burn with unshed tears and I internally yell at them to say put and not fall, holding onto my anger as tightly as I am the blanket.

He takes a step toward me. I take one back.

“Parker—”

“You should go.”

He freezes. “No. Absolutely not.”

“I mean it,” I say, and this time my voice cracks. “I need you to leave. Please. Before you get hurt again. Or worse. I can’t keep watching you get torn apart because of me.”

He looks like he’s about to argue, but then his shoulders fall.

And that hits me harder than anything.

“I can’t protect you,” I whisper. “Not from this. Not from me.”

He stares at me like he wants to fight. Like he wants to scream.

But he doesn’t.

Because he knows he’s already lost this round.

And maybe me.

I turn away, blinking fast as the sting continues to hit the backs of my eyes, those tears becoming heavier by the second, but still being held back. “I’m going to take a shower,” I whisper. My voice is barely audible over the sound of my own heartbeat. “When I come out…”

I can’t look at him when I say it.

“I want you to be gone.”

The silence that follows is unbearable.

He’s good. Too good.

And I don’t deserve good. Good never survives when I’m involved.

My heart cracks wide open.

I don’t say anything else. If I do, I’ll take it back. And I can’t take it back. Ishouldn’ttake it back. Not this time.

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