June's POV:
The sun was cruel when it finally rose.
Its light cut through the cracks in the blinds, slicing across the bed like a knife. I stayed still, barely breathing, afraid that if I moved too much, I'd wake him. Afraid that if I spoke, he'd remember he hated me.
Justin.
Justin, who let me stay.
Justin, who didn't touch me last night—who didn't push, didn't pry—who just… existed next to me, like that was enough.
I turned my head slowly, cautiously.
He was still there.
On his side, facing away from me, the muscles of his back tight even in sleep. His hands fisted in the sheets like he was still fighting invisible wars.
A lump rose in my throat.
Because somehow I knew: he didn't trust me.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever again.
And worse... he shouldn't.
I bit down hard on my lip, feeling the familiar sting of guilt, shame, and something far worse—hope.
Hope was dangerous.
Hope made you think you could heal things that were already too broken.
Careful, June. Careful.
