Page 187 of His To Erase
“And yet,” I mutter, crossing the threshold, “here I am.”
The door shuts behind me with a soft click.
“You said something out there.” I fold my arms, tightly across my chest. “About remembering more than I think. What did you mean?”
He just watches me like he’s already calculated every possible way this conversation could go, and he’s still three steps ahead. But I’m not leaving until I get something. Even if I have to burn the whole room down to get it.
He just shifts in his chair slightly—like he’s not surprised I came in, only deciding how much rope to give me before I hang myself.
I step farther into the room. “You said I remember more than I think,” I say again, slower this time. “So tell me what you think I’m forgetting.”
Still nothing.
“You’re really gonna sit there and act like you haven’t been watching me unravel?” My voice cracks. “That I’m not walking around with fucking holes in my memory and nightmares that don’t belong to me?”
His jaw ticks, and that’s it. I snap.
“I’m obviously not the only one hiding shit,” I step closer before I can talk myself out of it. “So unless you plan on staying cryptic forever, maybe it’s your turn to spill something real.”
My eyes flick to the desk—papers, a pen, and one manila folder. “Starting with that,” I add, already moving toward it.
“Don’t,” he warns.
I stop mid-step, heart pounding in my ears. “Why? What is it?” My voice drops. “Is it about me?”
He doesn’t answer.
“You’ve been digging,” I whisper.
He stands slowly, rising to his full height, and towers over me. Everything about him screamsdon’t push, which only makes me want to push harder.
“Of course I have,” he says coldly. “You think I let someone into my house without knowing who the fuck they are?”
I flinch before I can stop it. “I didn’t ask to come here.”
“No,” he says, voice tightening. “But you didn’t leave either.”
“I tried?—”
“Did you?”
His voice cuts like a blade. “Or did you crawl back because you wanted to?”
My throat clamps shut and I hate how fast he switches gears. I hate that I don’t know how to answer.
“I don’t know what I want,” I say finally, feeling raw and wrecked. “But I’m done being the only one trying to figure out what the fuck is real.”
His jaw ticks, as he tracks me like prey. But he doesn’t move. So I close the distance, reaching for the edge of the folder waiting for him to stop me.
“Don’t,” he growls again.
I ignore him, running my fingers under the edge?—
“Come here,” he snaps.
I freeze.
Slowly lifting my gaze to his. His expression is unreadable, but there’s heat there. Something darker sitting just beneath the surface.
