Justin's POV
"I didn't sleep with him," she whispered.
"Don't lie to me."
"I'm not!" she cried, her voice cracking open like glass.
Her words hit me like a truck.
The room spun.
I stared at her.
Her eyes were wild—filled with something between panic and shame and truth. Something raw.
My mouth went dry.
I remembered the marks. The way she'd clawed at me like she needed to be reminded she was alive. The desperation in her kiss. The way she didn't look at me like someone who had just cheated.
She looked like someone trying not to drown.
I stood up. I needed distance. Space. Air.
"I can't," I said.
She didn't ask what I meant. Just nodded. Stared down at the floor, arms wrapped around herself like armor.
"I thought you hated me," she whispered.
"I did," I said honestly. "Maybe I still do."
She laughed—but it was hollow. Broken. It scraped against the silence like rusted metal.
"I don't blame you."
I looked at her. Really looked.
