Chapter 8

“Well?” he prompts.

So he iswaiting for a reply. Damn it.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I murmur into his chest.

His hand continues to trace soft patterns on my shoulder. “You were talking about me.”

This time it isn’t a question. It’s his way of demanding an answer.

I sigh. “Not really, no. She just…look, I don’t really want to talk about it right now, okay?”

He rolls back, away from me, his hand dropping from my shoulders. Without his touch, I feel lonely and cold. “Please,” I say. “Don’t be like this.”

Too late. He sits up, legs over the side of the bed, his back to me. Dismissive, as if I don’t even exist. I wrap my arms tight around his waist and bite back everything I want to say. The material of his shirt is coarse against my face.

Now he probably won’t speak to me again for the rest of the night, and I’ll sleep by myself a second night, alone in my own dark, silent hell. Without him.

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