Was it all a lie?

Untold Truth

POV: Quinn Hodgins 

I remember his soft fingers tracing small circles on my back as he whispered softly in my ear how much he loved me. 

What a lie. 

To say you'd keep me forever but then discard me the next moment. I never understood why. Why, why, why? Why'd he leave me?

I can still feel the warmth of his breath, the way his laughter filled the spaces between us like music. But those moments feel like a cruel joke now, echoes of a love that turned to dust overnight. Did he ever mean it? Did I ever mean anything to him? I spent years wondering, trying to piece together the fragments of our story, but all I have left are unanswered questions.

Now, sitting here in the present, I realize how much I've changed, yet the scars from that breakup remain. I've built walls around my heart, convinced myself I didn't need anyone. But a part of me—maybe the part that still remembers those soft whispers—wondered if I'd ever really moved on.

I let out a frustrated breath, forcing a smile as James chats with a group of people I barely recognize. The music pulses through the room, the chatter blending into one endless hum. I shouldn't have come. The idea of meeting someone new, whoever James had been so eager to introduce, felt pointless—no one could get past the walls I'd built.

"Hey, Quinn!" James calls out, his voice a little too loud in the crowded room. "Come here, I want you to meet someone."

Reluctantly, I weave my way through the crowd, forcing myself to look interested. James grins, his hand on someone's shoulder, and my heart stops.

Wyatt Bartlett.

He looks... older. His hair a little longer, his face sharper, but those eyes—the same ones I'd drowned in years ago—haven't changed. For a second, everything in me freezes. Time doesn't seem to exist. I should have been prepared, should have known that life could be cruel enough to throw him back into my world like this.

"Quinn... this is Wyatt. We've been hanging out a lot lately. Wyatt, meet Quinn—"

But James's voice fades. My pulse pounds in my ears, and I can't breathe. All I see is Wyatt—Wyatt, who said he loved me and left me like I was nothing. Wyatt, who tore me apart and vanished.

I don't know if it's instinct or sheer panic, but my feet move before my brain catches up. I turn and push through the crowd, my heart slamming against my chest. The room feels too small, the air too thick.

I can hear someone calling my name, but I don't stop. Not until I'm outside, the cool night air hitting my face like a slap. My lungs burn as I try to catch my breath, the sound of footsteps closing in behind me.

"Quinn!"

His voice—how many times had I heard it in my dreams, only to wake up empty and alone?

I spin around, the flood of emotions crashing into me all at once. Anger. Pain. Confusion.

"What the hell are you doing here, Wyatt?" The words spill out before I can stop them, my voice shaking.

Wyatt slows his pace, hands raised as if trying to show he means no harm. But his eyes, those same eyes, are wide and filled with something I can't place. Fear? Guilt?

"Quinn, please. Just—just listen. I didn't know you'd be here. I swear, I didn't."

His voice is rougher now, less like the boy I knew. But the hurt behind it feels real, and that only makes me angrier.

"You didn't know?" I scoff, taking a step back. "You didn't know I'd be here, or you didn't know how much you destroyed me when you left without a word?"