Page 100 of Hide From Me

It’s his back.

A raw, cruel landscape of pain that looks carved rather than healed.

There are scars. Dozens of them. They are not faint or old or softened by time. No, these are fresh—pink at the edges, as if the skin hasn’t quite accepted their presence yet. They look like they’re still healing, still burning, still hurting, and somehow, I’ve never noticed. Not like this. Not this many. Not this deep.

I don’t know if I never looked closely enough before or if Moe is justthatgood at hiding them—like everything else—but now that I’ve seen them, I can’t unsee them.

They twist something in my stomach. It’s not pity or revulsion. It’s a sharp, unsteady ache. Scars like these don’t happen by accident. They aren’t fromchildhood stumbles or foolish dares gone wrong. They tell stories, and these ones are written in a language I don’t understand; perhaps a language I was never meant to read.

Were they from his past? His family? His brother? A psycho ex with a penchant for knives and no regard for boundaries?

Or was it something else? Something worse?

Maybe he seeks it out. Perhaps pain is the only thing that makes him feel real, like he’s still alive, like something inside him isn’t numb anymore.

I don't know what to think, and that's what really frustrates me—theuncertainty.After everything, there’s still a wide, gaping canyon between us, filled with blank pages, missing chapters, and unspoken words that are beginning to accumulate in the silence.

I glance down at my phone, lowering the brightness as I pretend to scroll through my ebook. I'm not really taking it in. The main character's stalker is whispering about how love justifies obsession, and yes, that should unsettle me—but honestly? I’m already spiraling too deep to care.

I want to wake him. I want to shake him.I want to ask him.

I want real answers, not the playful banter we use as a smokescreen, not the sarcastic exchanges that keep us both feeling safe. I want the truth—the kind that peels away the layers of your secrets and dares you to stay anyway.

“He gets the girl,” Moe murmurs, his voice low and thick with sleep. It’s the kind of rasp that sends a shiver down my spine, a mix of velvet and gravel.

I blink, startled. “Huh?”

“He gets the girl. Not just physically. He sees her—understands her. They make sense.” His voice is lazy, but the words are too precise to be accidental.

He shifts, throwing a knee over my leg like some big, sleepy, clingy creature. It’s so Moe that I could scream.

I glance down at him, half-asleep, hair a tangled mess, arm flung over his eyes to block the light. He looks so damn soft like this, sweet even—like he buys girls flowers just because he thinks they deserve something pretty for simply existing.

I know better than to ignore the signs. There’s something darker inside him—something wild and waiting. It's that part that makes me hesitate, even now.

“And how would you know that?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

He squints his eyes open just enough to meet mine. “I read both the first and the second. It’s a duet, sunshine.”

He grins as if I should be impressed, but all I do is stare at him, horrified. “There’s a second book?”

He laughs quietly, smug and unbothered. I mentally note that for later—something to panic about once I deal with the anxiety knot currently residing in my chest.

I can’t keep pretending that everything is okay. Not really. Not when I'm on the verge of completely falling apart.

“Moe?” My voice comes out a lot quieter than I care to admit, so I toss my phone onto the nightstand, hoping it will divert his attention from the vulnerability in my tone.

He immediately shifts to his side and props himself up on one elbow, his lazy smile fading into something more serious, alert, and focused.

“Yeah, baby?”

I hesitate, swallowing hard, afraid that this might be the moment where I might ruin everything.

“There’s something I haven’t told you.”

His brow furrows, and the drop of his smile slices clean through me.

“When Jack was checking on my house, the front door was cracked. The cops said it looked like forced entry, but nothing was taken—no money, no jewelry, not even the electronics. Everything was exactly where I left it.”

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