Page 19 of Make Them Cry
I lean back, exhaling slowly. It’s not enough. Nothing will ever feel like enough when I can still see the look on River’s face in my head—shocked, pale, humiliated. She looked like she wanted to crawl out of her own skin.
And she doesn’t even know she’s safe because of us. Because of me.
I minimize the window just as the front door opens. The noise of the office swells—keyboards, whispers, nervous laughter.
River walks in.
Her chin’s high, but I can see the exhaustion written in her shoulders. Her eyes are shadowed from no sleep, lips pressed tight like she’s holding herself together with sheer willpower. She’s wearing black again—her armor.
My chest loosens a fraction seeing her here. Alive. Breathing. Trying.
She heads straight for her desk. Everyone’s pretending not to stare. I want to fucking punch every single one of them.
I push away from my monitor and stand, forcing my tone into something neutral. “Hey.”
Her gaze flicks to me. Defensive. Wary. “Don’t.”
I stop mid-step. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t say you’re sorry. Or that people are awful. Or that it’s not a big deal. I can’t handle sympathy right now.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
Lie. I absolutely was.
She narrows her eyes. “Then what?”
I search for something—anything—to keep her here, talking. “Wanted to make sure you got home okay.”
“I did.” She sits down, opens her laptop. The tremor in her fingers betrays her. “I stayed at Tasha’s.”
Good. Safer than being alone.
“You should’ve called me,” I say before I can stop myself.
Her laugh is sharp, bitter. “Oh, sure. Let me just call the guy who steals my coffee and argues about semicolons.”
“I’d answer.”
“I bet you would.”
She’s trying to be flippant, but the cracks are there. I can hear them.
Before I can come up with something smart—something that doesn’t sound likeplease trust me—her phone buzzes. She freezes, glances down. Color drains from her face.
“What?” I ask.
She swallows hard. “It’s trending again.”
I move closer, ignoring her glare. On her screen, the fake interview is back on social feeds—different caption, same poison. It’s got over thirty thousand views.
“Jesus Christ,” I breathe. “They’re relentless.”
“Yeah.” Her voice shakes. “Guess I make good clickbait.”
“River—”
“I’m fine.”
