† 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 † Angels Love

Chapter 18

Christopher's POV

The sun had nearly dipped below the horizon, casting long, jagged shadows across the training grounds. My breath came in ragged gasps, each inhalation burning my lungs like fire. I swung my sword with all the force I could muster, each blow landing against the practice dummy with a satisfying thud. Sweat dripped down my face, stinging my eyes, but I didn't stop. I couldn't. If I kept moving, kept swinging, I could block out the pain that was tearing me apart inside.

The memory of Star's voice, her angry words in the dining hall, replayed over and over in my mind, each repetition like a fresh wound. 

"I hate him! I hate Christopher!" 

I'd tried to tell myself that she didn't mean it, that she'd just been upset, scared even. But the look in her eyes, the way her voice had cracked with raw emotion, told me otherwise. She had meant every word.

I swung harder, faster, trying to lose myself in the rhythm of the strikes, the impact of the blade against the wood. The pain in my muscles was a welcome distraction from the ache in my chest. The way she'd screamed, the way she'd looked right through me like I was nothing—it felt like a knife twisting in my gut. How had things gone so wrong, so fast?

I thought about the night we spent together in her room. The way we'd danced, the way her lips had felt against mine. It had felt real. More real than anything I'd ever known. And yet, here I was, swinging at shadows, trying to beat back the hurt that gnawed at me. She'd said she hated me. She wanted it all to stop. It was like every moment we shared meant nothing to her.

My grip tightened on the hilt of my sword, my knuckles white. I lashed out at the dummy again, my movements becoming more frantic, less controlled. The wood splintered under the force of my blows, but I didn't care. All I cared about was hitting something, anything, until the anger and confusion left my body. Each strike was a way to drown out the thoughts, to keep the memories of Star from clawing at my mind.

Sweat soaked through my shirt, plastering it to my skin, but I ignored the discomfort. I couldn't afford to stop. Stopping meant thinking, and thinking meant facing the reality that I'd fallen for her. That I'd let myself care. And now, I was paying the price. I'd broken my own rules, let my guard down, and it had come back to bite me. Star was right. This was a mistake.

Another swing, then another. My muscles screamed in protest, but I pushed through the pain. I was close to exhaustion, my vision blurring from the sweat that dripped into my eyes. But I kept going, each swing of the sword a desperate attempt to drive out the hurt that gnawed at me. I could feel the anger simmering under the surface, a constant, relentless burn that wouldn't go away.

All of this was supposed to be a game. A stupid bet. Whoever fell in love first would lose. I'd made the bet to keep things light, to keep from getting in too deep. But I'd underestimated her, underestimated myself. And now, I was drowning in feelings I didn't know how to handle. If I stopped, if I let myself think, I'd have to face the truth. 

That I was falling for her. That I'd already fallen.

My arms ached, the muscles burning, each swing slower than the last. My breathing was harsh, ragged, each breath a struggle. But I couldn't stop. Stopping meant letting the pain catch up to me. Stopping meant admitting that I was losing control. I swung again, my vision narrowing, the world around me fading into a blur of movement and sound.

A voice cut through the fog, sharp and clear. "Christopher!"

I froze, the sound of my name sending a jolt through me. I knew that voice. I turned, my eyes searching the darkening garden, and there she was. Star stood at the edge of the training grounds, her silhouette outlined against the twilight. Her face was pale, her eyes wide, filled with something I couldn't quite place—worry, maybe fear.