Page 91 of You Were Always Mine
And I think that’s what’s going to kill me.
Scarlett
Idon’t sleep. Not for a second.
The ceiling carves itself into my skull, the cracks splitting wider every time I blink. Every shadow looks like him—Kai at my door, Kai at the end of my bed, Kai inside me where he shouldn’t be. And beneath it all, the steady vibration of my phone where it hides under my pillow, rattling like a pulse I can’t ignore.
I cave just before dawn.
The screen burns my eyes—another message. Then another.
TYLER: You think you can just walk out on me?
TYLER: After what we had that night?
TYLER: You owe me.
My stomach turns. My fingers shake as I hammer outa reply.
ME: Leave me alone.
It doesn’t stop him.
TYLER: Don’t play games. You liked it.
TYLER: You’ll come back to me. You have to.
TYLER: Or maybe I’ll come find you.
The air leaves my lungs in jagged pieces. My chest won’t rise properly, won’t fall.
ME: Don’t. Don’t you dare.
Three dots. The longest three dots of my life.
TYLER: You think anyone will believe you if you run your mouth? You wanted it. Remember that.
The words blur. I can’t tell if it’s from tears or rage or the fact I haven’t closed my eyes since yesterday. My body aches, my head’s splitting open, but I can’t stop staring at the screen.
He doesn’t know Kai. He doesn’t know what’s waiting for him if he shows up here.
But I do.
And the thought almost makes me sicker than the messages.
For one insane, spiralling second?—
I want Tyler to try.
The glow of the TV throws colours across the living-room walls, laughter and music tumbling from the speakers as the four of us sink into the couches like we’re a picture-perfect family. Mum insisted on it—a movie night, all of us together, just like we used to. There’s a stack of DVDs on the coffee table, bowls of popcorn in everyone’s laps, soda cans sweating onto coasters.
On the surface, it’s normal. Almost sickeningly normal.
I curl my legs beneath me, blanket wrapped tight around my shoulders, forcing a smile when Mum presses the remote into my hand and says I should choose. I pick something at random—some old comedy I won’t even register—because my phone keeps buzzing beneath the blanket. Every vibration is a knife. Every notification is his name.
Tyler.
I keep it hidden, screen face-down, heart ricocheting inside my chest every time it lights up.
