Page 99 of Sapphire Tears

Her hair is jet black, freshly ironed, like it’s carved out of obsidian. Her features, though, are dainty. Sweet. Unblemished. Like June, before the scars and the car crash and all the things that have been ripped away from her time and time again.

She gives me a small, nervous smile. I don’t bother returning it before I turn my gaze back to my glass.

Jesus, I thought he just refilled it? I’m seeing the bottom already.

I drain the rest and push it away from me. I rap my knuckles against the bar counter twice, and seconds later, he’s pouring again.

“Good man,” I growl without looking up.

He gives me a satisfied nod and moves to take another customer’s order. I can still feel the June imitation staring at me. Her desire pulsates between us like the air itself is throbbing.

But I couldn’t be less interested. My mind is still up in that cramped, overheated apartment. I hadn’t stuck around to hear how their little confrontation ended. June had asked the right questions and my brother’s answers were rehearsed and hollow, so obviously self-serving that I wanted to puke right on the threshold.

So why can’t she see that?

Why is it so easy for him to convince her that I’m the one feeding her a story?

Of course he was confident. Liars always are. And he had every reason to be. After all, if our mother could swallow his lies about me, why not June?

My mother believed me, so why the fuck can’t you?

She believed him.

Then she died.

The moment those words had left Adrian’s mouth, all I could hear was the siren of my own rage rushing through my ears. I knew if I stayed there another second longer, that people would die.

And even if she didn’t believe me, even if she chose Adrian over me—June still didn’t deserve that.

So I left.

I’d landed right here, on this miserable stool in this miserable bar, with my sixth vodka in my hand and little motivation to think about anything past the next hour.

“Hi.”

I glance to my side to discover that the black-haired June doppelganger is standing in front of the empty stool next to me. Her expression is nervous but hopeful.

“Are you waiting for someone?” she asks timidly.

“No.”

It wasn’t an invitation by any stretch, but she sits down regardless. Up close, I can see the cracks in her foundation. She’s wearing far too much of it.

“I’m Cara.”

I grunt wordlessly in response.

“So—bad night?” she presses.

What is wrong with women?I ponder idly. They hone in on the most dysfunctional, broken men they can find and then they’re shocked when he leaves them the same way the rest of them did. When his infection spreads. When he reels them down to his level.

“Same here,” she says when I don’t answer. “My friends dragged me out so I’d forget about my ex.” When I still say nothing, she twists in her stool to face me. “Are you heartbroken about something, too?”

I laugh bitterly. “First, I’d need the heart.”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t be drinking so much.” She chews at her lower lip in a way that makes my chest throb painfully.She does it like June does,I realize. “Listen, I don’t need to know your story. I just… think we can make each other feel better for a little while.” As she talks, she places her hand on the crook of my elbow. Her touch is soft and light, feathery—and not even one percent tempting.

“You need to get the fuck away from me,” I snarl. “Now.”

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