❝ They say, who loves first, falls hardest, but what if this story is she fell first, he fell harder. ❞
Truths hurt, lies are a blasphemy in a relationship. But have you ever felt it? When everything feels like they're infinitely stretching your sou...
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Her nails graze my shirt as her tongue glides against mine. Her breathing comes in short puffs, as if she's desperate to inhale but can't quite let go. I pull back, and she leans in again, but my grip on her shoulders holds her in place. Her fingers brush away the single tear rolling down my cheek.
My mind is racing with questions and anger, yet none of it makes sense. The betrayal I've experienced is consuming every bit of my being, with May being my only anchor in this turbulent sea. I had confronted Aiden about the towel, but he had quickly hidden it in his bag and fled, leaving me with unanswered questions and doubts. I want to believe he has nothing to do with any of it, but the possibility that my concerns are true says otherwise.
"I know it feels like a huge betrayal, Logan, but you have to understand," May says, her voice a soothing balm to my frenzy. "He's a smart man. There must be a good reason for what he's doing."
"I get that, May. But if he's connected to W or is W himself, it shatters the trust I've placed in him. He's been my best friend since childhood. Our trust, our bond-this single lie could destroy it all." My own voice sounds alien, cracking more than ever. My heart is in pieces, and he won't even answer his god damn phone to give me some clarity.
"Sir, can I get you anything else?" the waitress inquires, setting our drinks on the table. May dismisses her with a wave of her hand, her expression laden with sorrow as she continues to toy with my hair ends, stroking my damp cheeks occasionally. Her tender touch calms every frayed nerve, and I could melt into her embrace and never leave if not for the fact that we are sitting in a café. We sit tucked away at a secluded corner table, mostly secluded from prying eyes.
May's hand sneaks beneath the table to clasp mine. She lays her head down and gently pats the hand she holds. I prop my elbow on the table, cradling my head as I watch her, a sea of questions swirling in my gaze. Ever since we arrived, she's seemed distant. Her eyes are filled with pain, and most unsettling of all-her eyes seem to be trying to hide something.
Leaning in, I press a gentle kiss to her lips. Her other hand cradles my face tenderly. I grasp it, weaving our fingers together, a small smile creeping onto my face.
My safe space. My haven.
Yet, it's only as our fingers entwine that I notice the new ring on her index finger. At first glance, the ring seems normal, with a small diamond, but when I try to pull her hand closer under the guise of placing a small kiss on the back of her hand, she withdraws it.
I continue tracing soft circles on the back of her other hand beneath the table, my gaze now tinged with suspicion for the first time. Soon after, she retrieves that hand too and pulls off her ring, attempting to stash it in her bag. My reaction is swift; I snatch the ring from her grasp.
