Page 231 of His To Erase
I sink further into the couch, pulling the blanket over my lap. The sugar’s kicking in, and the coffee’s working. Thank God.
Even though everything is chaos—Steven, Frank, the truth I still haven’t said—right now, in this tiny apartment with my best friends, her disaster of a dating life and her candle-induced asthma attack waiting to happen…I feel almost human again.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table, slicing through the moment. It’s Frank. I don’t even bother opening it. I can see the preview just fine. Another fake-sweet check-in, like he’s worried. Probably followed by some vague apology that doesn't actually take responsibility, wrapped in charm and old memories and whatever script he thinks still works on me.
I delete it because I’m done pretending, done letting him talk in circles around my instincts, like I’m the one who’s crazy for hearing the alarm bells. Something’s wrong and it has been for a long time.
Last night, I chose Steven.Okay, let’s be honest. I think I chose him the first day in the library.
I let him touch me. I let him see me. And I fell asleep with his arms around me like I wasn’t still broken. Even if I don’t know what it means yet, it matters.
I set the phone back down, exhaling once, and press my fingers to my temples.
Steven said no more lies, and I meant it when I agreed. I need to end things with Frank, for real this time.
I haven’t even talked to Steven, not since last night, and that silence is starting to settle like a bruise. I bite the inside of my cheek, hard. I’m not going to spiral. I’ve done enough of that lately.
“Okay, you’re doing that thing again,” Sarah says, nudging my leg with her foot from the opposite end of the couch. “The one where your face goes full war-crime and I start wondering if I need to hide the knives.”
I blink over at her. “Sorry. Just thinking.”
“Right. That’s the problem.” She sets her coffee down, narrowing her eyes. “Did lover-boy disappear already? Or is he still lurking in the shadows, sharpening his cheekbones and planning your joint funeral?”
I snort, then shake my head. “Haven’t heard from him.”
Her expression softens. “And that’s…not normal?”
“I don’t know.” I rub the back of my neck. “I mean, it’s only been a few hours, and he’s not exactly a good-morning-text kind of guy, but something feels…off.”
“Off how? Like emotionally constipated and brooding, or ghosted-me-for-no-reason off?”
“Somewhere between both,” I mutter. “With a sprinkle of emotionally unavailable and weirdly intense eye contact.”
“Love that for you.” She sighs, leaning back against the cushions. “But also, he does look at you like you hung the moon. So maybe give it a minute before you go full Scorpio death spiral.”
“I’m an Aquarius.”
“Same difference. You just alphabetize the knives before you use them.”
I crack a smile—small, but real.
“Look,” she says, shifting so she’s facing me. “You don’t have to know what you want from him yet. Or from Frank. Or from yourself. You’re allowed to be in the middle of the mess.”
“Thanks, therapist Barbie.”
“Anytime, emotionally constipated Barbie.” She grins, then taps her phone. “Now if we’re done unpacking your man drama, there’s something I need to tell you.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Please tell me this isn’t about the guy who offered to buy your feet pics and your air fryer.”
She snorts, nearly choking on her coffee. “Oh my god—no. That guy was unhinged. He wanted to sniff my air fryer. Immediately blocked.”
I laugh, the sound catching in my throat. “You attract the weirdest men. It’s honestly impressive.”
“Right?” She flops back dramatically against the couch, pulling her blanket up to her chin. “But no. This one’s…different.”
I narrow my eyes. “Different how? Like ‘not a felon’ different, or ‘has a working shower head’ different?”
Her face flushes, but she tries to play it off. I know that look. “You like him.”
