Page 107 of Glass Jawed
Until today, I had actually managed to avoid him. Mostly because I barely left my apartment. But his timing today is impeccable. And most likely engineered.
We try to walk around him, but the bastard actually reaches for me.
He misses, and Liam steps in like a shot.
“What the fuck?” Liam snaps. “He’s not interested. You hear me? Go stalk someone else.”
I stay quiet. I don’t have it in me to argue. Not with him. Not today.
“I just... please,” Tim whimpers.
The sound doesn’t move me. Not anymore. He holds out a letter—another unmarked, desperate attempt. One more for the trash can.
“You need to stop,” I say, voice flat, then turn away. Liam follows.
We’re practically speed-walking to my building, and I can hear Tim’s footsteps behind us.
“Stop following us,” Liam growls. “And take your damn letter to the trash where the rest are.”
I glance back—just enough to assess if Liam needs backup. Tim’s gaining, eyes fixed on me, face twisted with some kind of righteous fury.
“You haven’t read them?” he barks.
“I don’t need to,” I reply, too tired to muster anything else. “I don’t care for your words.”
I turn away again. I don’t want to look at him. Don’t want to listen. But he keeps going, voice rising behind me like a siren I can’t escape.
“You’re not even going to read them? We... we belong together, Lucian! I love you. I’ll be better—I’m not confused anymore! I promise, I’ll be better!”
Promises when shouted at you in desperation, ring hollow. I want to tell him. But I think it’d be a waste of my energy.
So I keep walking.
Fine, maybe he’s not confused. But I’m not either.
I don’t love him.
I don’t even hate him.
And that’s the scariest part. The emptiness. Scary because—that’s probably how Aarohi feels forme. And that hurts. So fucking much.
We reach the condo doors. I pause, hand hovering over the fob. Last thing I want is him slipping in behind us.
“Tim,” I say, turning back one last time, “leave. We’re done. We’ve been done for over a year, so I don’t know why you’re here.”
And I mean it.
Every single word.
He doesn’t move. Just stares at me, eyes glassy.
“I’m not going to ask again,” I say, low and warning. “Leave.”
He looks at me with those wide, wet eyes like that’s going to mean something. It doesn’t. I’ve got nothing left to give him. Not attention. Not sympathy. Not even anger. Not anymore.
“Iknowyou love me,” he chokes out, voice cracking like he’s reciting a line he’s convinced himself of. “I’m so sorry I lied. I was scared... but Ineedyou to see that I’m here. I’mfightingfor you.”
I laugh. Not because it’s funny. Because it’s fucking pathetic.
