Shadows Between Us

Chapter 5: Unraveling Lies

The next few days are torture. Every time I walk into a classroom or down a hallway, I feel Cassidy's eyes on me. She doesn't speak to me, doesn't try to approach, but her presence alone is enough to set my nerves on edge.

I should feel powerful. I told her off. I told her to stay away. But instead, I feel trapped, like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Shadow is gone. The one person who made me feel seen and heard turned out to be the same one who tore me apart. It's almost poetic in the worst way possible.

By Thursday, I'm running on empty. I avoid everyone, spending my lunches in the library and ducking out of conversations before they can start. Even Aaron, the only person who's ever tried to befriend me, gives up after I brush him off for the third time this week.

When I get home, I find Mom slumped on the couch, an empty vodka bottle on the floor beside her. I tiptoe past her, heading straight for my room.

The door clicks shut behind me, and for a moment, I just stand there, staring at the mess of blankets on my bed and the papers scattered across my desk. My phone buzzes from where it's buried under a pile of clothes.

I almost don't check it. But some morbid part of me hopes it's Shadow.

When I finally pick it up, I see the message.

Unknown Number: Please don't block me again. I need to explain.

My stomach twists. I don't need to ask who it is. I know.

I stare at the message for what feels like an eternity, my thumb hovering over the screen. Part of me wants to block the number and throw my phone across the room again. But another part—the part that's desperate for answers—refuses to let me.

I type back before I can stop myself.

Me: How did you even get this number?
Unknown Number: It wasn't hard. You're not exactly careful about who you give it to.

I grit my teeth. Of course she'd say something like that.

Me: What do you want, Cassidy? Haven't you done enough?
Unknown Number: I just want to talk. Please.

I almost laugh. Talk? After everything she's done? After she turned my entire life into a living hell?

But the anger bubbling inside me isn't enough to drown out the curiosity.

Me: You've got one chance. Explain.

The reply comes almost immediately.

Unknown Number: Not like this. Can we meet?

My stomach flips.

Me: Are you fucking kidding me? Why the hell would I want to meet you?
Unknown Number: Because you deserve answers.

She's right. I hate her for it, but she's right.

Me: Fine. Where?

The coffee shop Cassidy chooses is far enough from school that we won't run into anyone we know. I sit in the corner, hoodie pulled up over my head, watching the door like a hawk.

When she finally walks in, my breath catches in my throat. She's dressed casually—ripped jeans, an oversized sweater—but she still looks polished, like she belongs on the cover of a magazine.

I hate that she looks so put together while I feel like I'm falling apart.

She spots me almost immediately and makes her way over, her steps hesitant for once. When she sits down across from me, I don't say anything. I just glare.

Cassidy clears her throat. "Thanks for coming."

"I'm not here for you," I snap. "I'm here for answers. So start talking."

She winces, but nods. "Okay. I guess the first thing you need to know is that... none of this was supposed to happen."

I laugh bitterly. "What the hell does that even mean?"

"It means I didn't plan to hurt you," she says, her voice soft. "Not like this."

"You didn't plan to hurt me?" I repeat, my voice rising. "So what, all the times you humiliated me at school were just happy accidents?"

Cassidy flinches. "I didn't mean—"

"Save it," I snap. "You don't get to play the victim here, Cassidy. You ruined me. You made me feel like I was nothing. And all the while, you were pretending to care about me online? What kind of sick person does that?"

"I didn't pretend to care," she says, her voice trembling.

"Then why?" I demand. "Why did you do it?"

She looks down at the table, her fingers twisting together. For a moment, I think she's not going to answer.

But then she looks up, and her eyes are filled with something I've never seen before. Regret.

"Because I'm fucked up," she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. "Because I didn't know how else to deal with... everything. I thought if I kept you at arm's length, if I pushed you away, I wouldn't have to feel anything."

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut.

"You don't get to use your problems as an excuse," I say, my voice shaking. "You don't get to destroy people just because you're hurting."

"I know," she says quickly. "I know that. And I'm not trying to excuse it, I swear. I just... I don't know how to fix it."

I stare at her, my chest heaving. Part of me wants to believe her, to believe that she's genuinely sorry. But the other part—the part that's still raw and broken—can't forgive her.

"I don't think you can fix it," I say finally.

Her shoulders slump, and for the first time, she looks as small as I feel.

"I'm sorry, Willow," she says, her voice cracking. "I know that doesn't mean much, but I am. For everything."

I don't respond. I just stand up and walk out of the coffee shop, leaving her behind.

I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive her.

But for now, it's enough to know that I don't have to face her lies anymore.