Page 29 of The Weight of Her Silence
“Just tired.”
He believed her.
Wanted to believe her. Because the alternative—a possibility he wasn’t ready to consider—would require too much of the man he used to be.
Later that night, he met Camille at the apartment. She wrapped herself around him the second he stepped inside, lips dragging across his jaw, arms tight around his neck like she was trying to mold him into her skin.
“You’re distracted,” she murmured against his collarbone.
“Don’t tell me you’re thinking about her again.”
He didn’t answer.
Just kissed her harder.
Camille laughed into his mouth, triumphant. Because silence meant surrender and Nate was always easiest to own when guilt softened his spine.
Lila
She stared at herself in the mirror that night after her shower. The bruises on her arms from the IVs had begun to bloom dark purple. Her skin was pale, thinner, the dark circles beneath her eyes no longer something concealer could hide.
And yet… he hadn’t said a word.
Hadn’t asked why she winced when reaching for the cupboard. Hadn’t questioned why her hair looked flatter, duller. Hadn’t stayed awake long enough to notice she no longer slept beside him.
She was eroding in silence, and he was too far gone to hear the cracking. But she had made peace with one thing:
She would not beg him to come back.
If he had truly left, he could stay gone.
Nate
Camille curled up beside him in bed, scrolling through her phone.
“I saw this house today,” she said casually.
“Two bedrooms, an open kitchen. It’d be perfect for us. Someday.”
Nate stared at the ceiling. He didn’t answer.
Didn’t know how.
Camille leaned closer.
“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”
He glanced at her.
“No.”
She reached down beneath the sheets, fingers sliding over him with ease and confidence.
“Good,” she whispered.
“Because I want to make this real, Nate. I want us to be real.”
And maybe if she hadn’t touched him like that—if she hadn’t known exactly how to make him forget—he might’ve walked out right then.
