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violets pov
"Our hero." The words were soft, almost too quiet to catch, but I heard them. They came from her—of course, they did. She always saw the best in things, even when everything around us had turned to ash. I didn't look at her, though. My eyes stayed glued to the mural in front of me, to Vander's face staring back through the layers of paint and chaos.
It was strange—how colors could feel so heavy. The reds, the blues, the yellow—they swirled together like memories I couldn't quite reach. Vander and Jinx. Together, like it was supposed to be. Like it could never be again.
I clenched my fists at my sides, trying to ignore the ache in my chest. The fight earlier... it was still there, lingering in the air between us. I hadn't meant to hurt her. Not her. But I'd done it anyway, hadn't I? Because that's all I seem to know how to do. Destroy. Break. Ruin everything I touch.
She stood next to me, quiet now, but I could feel her. The warmth of her presence, the way she always made the world feel just a little less cold. She tried to speak again, her voice breaking the silence like a hesitant knock on a locked door. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"
I didn't answer. I couldn't. My throat felt tight, and I didn't trust myself to speak without it all coming undone. Instead, I focused on the mural, on Vander's face, and let the weight of everything I'd done press down harder.
When she started to walk away, I felt it—this sharp pang of fear. Like if I let her go now, I might never get her back. She'd leave me, like everything else had. Like I deserved. But I couldn't let that happen. Not with her. Not after what I'd done.
"I didn't mean what I did," I said, the words coming out firmer than I'd expected, but still carrying all the weight I couldn't shake. "I didn't mean to hurt you."
She stopped, her back to me, but she didn't turn around. For a moment, I thought she might just keep walking, leave me to drown in the mess I'd made. But then she answered, her voice quiet, distant. "I know."
It wasn't enough. I needed her to look at me, to see me. To understand. "I never wanted it to be this way," I added, softer this time. "Not with you."
She turned slightly, just enough for me to see her face in the dim light.
Her eyes—God, her eyes.
They were tired, worn down by all the things I'd put her through. And when she spoke again, her voice was colder than I'd ever heard it. "You say that now, but where was that thought earlier? When you had your hands around my throat? When you were looking at me like I was nothing to you?"
Her words hit me like a blow, and I flinched. I wanted to deny it, to tell her it wasn't like that, but the truth was a bitter pill I couldn't swallow. "I was angry," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'm always angry. It's the only thing that feels real anymore."
