I can see you

Chapter 28

(EDWARD'S POV)

It had been three days since she said it. Not screamed it at me or accused me. She just said it like a person commenting about the weather. At first, I didn't believe she meant it. She'd said it too calmly. There was no trembling, no fear, no hatred. Just... certainty. I expected her to run. Or scream. Or at least feel disgusted.

But she didn't. And that terrified me more than anything. It wasn't just that she knew, it was that she'd accepted it. Like she'd already made peace with the kind of monster I am. And worse... she still looked at me the same way. With that soft, steady gaze. Like I was something breakable, not dangerous. Like part of her still loved me. Or maybe always had. I didn't know what to do with that kind of forgiveness. I wasn't sure I deserved it, but God help me, I wanted it anyway.

"I know you're the one. The serial killer."

Since then, the house felt like a grave we both lived in. Every hallway was too quiet and every glance held back a thousand things we weren't ready to name. And Rosy... Rosy moved through it like she was wearing someone else's skin.

She didn't flinch when I touched her arm but she didn't lean into it either. We weren't just lovers anymore. We were something messier, something quieter. We were like old songs we kept humming after forgetting the words. Two survivors of the same storm, pretending the wind hadn't changed us.

I spent the nights in silence, wide awake while she breathed beside me but even that rhythm was different now. It seemed sharper and untrusting. Like her lungs knew I could stop them if I wanted to.

Tonight, I wandered the house instead of sleeping. Kitchen. Living room. My study. I opened drawers like the answers might be buried under pens and paper clips.

In the back of my closet, I found my old phone. The one Killian had gave me years ago. I powered it on.

I didn't know what I was looking for. Only that whatever we were now-whatever she was becoming-started here. With him.

The screen came alive, and so did the ghosts. Dozens of messages. Clinical. Charismatic. Calculated.

"She's close. Don't rush."

The message was dated the week she moved in. At the time, I didn't think much of it. Just another cryptic line in a long thread of cryptic lines. But now... It didn't feel like a coincidence. Not anymore.

The thought crept in before I could stop it:
Maybe Killian had known all along. That there was no way to separate Rosy and Riya. That they might start merging once the memories return. And he hadn't told me.

Why?

There was no reason to keep that from me. Unless... Unless he wanted me out of the way when it started happening. But all this made no sense maybe I was spiralling again.

I tapped my wrist two times, once then twice as I called him. Once, then again. But there was no answer, no voicemail, no read receipts. It was not like him. Killian never left things hanging. He was the guy who returned my texts in the middle of the night. Who once called me back during a funeral.

Maybe he had problems of his own or maybe he was just busy. But for some reason, I couldn't help but feel like the silence now wasn't passive. It was deliberate. He hadn't picked up my calls since the day we came back from our hometown. And that scared me more than anything.

I put the phone down, throat dry. The message rattled louder than the quiet house around me. I climbed the stairs slowly, not sure if I was going to confront her, or beg her not to leave me.

The door was cracked. I pushed it open gently. She was sitting upright on the bed, knees to chest, blanket pooled around her. Her hair was down, messy and too still. She looked at me but didn't speak.

I stepped inside. In the yellow lamp light she looked exhausted but haunted. She was always beautiful in a way that made my chest ache.

And then she said, very softly, "Do you still want me?"

Not like a question. More like an offering. Or a test. I didn't answer. I couldn't even bear to open my mouth without tears spilling from my eyes. I sat beside her, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. Her skin was warm. Her eyes wet, but not crying.

She reached for my hand, pulled it gently to her chest. The moment snapped tight between us. Not romantic or tender but just two broken things reaching for heat before the cold came back.

Her fingers gripped my shirt. She pulled me in and kissed me too hard, too fast. I responded. Not out of lust but out of panic and out of the fear that if I didn't, she'd vanish again.

She kissed like she wanted to forget her own name. Like she didn't care if I mistook her for someone else. I pressed her into the mattress, our bodies tangling. There were no words. Just gasps. Just friction. Just the illusion of being whole.

For one moment, I let myself believe she was real. That I was safe. That maybe, in the dark, we could disappear into each other and not wake up differently but afterward, I saw her turn her face to the wall.

Her shoulders were shaking. Not from me but from whatever version of herself had watched the whole thing happen. I wanted to say something but silence felt a lot safer.

An hour passed before she fell asleep with her back to me. I lay beside her, eyes wide open. Still not breathing right. The phone was back in my hand. I opened the message again.

"She's close. Don't rush."

I scrolled back further. Old messages. Instructions, advice, praise. But none of it felt real now. I was feeling like Killian hadn't helped me. He'd scripted me and built me like a machine designed to break at the right time. And her? Rosy felt built too. Just different materials but the same design.

I went downstairs. Sat at the kitchen table and turned the phone over and over in my hands. She didn't know I still had it. I didn't know how much Killian had seen. Or how long he'd been close to her before I ever showed up.

But the thought stuck: What if I wasn't the only one he'd been preparing?

...Then again, maybe I was just overthinking it. He was the only one who cared about me all my life and stuck there for me. I wanted to believe that. God, I needed to believe that.

Sometime before dawn, I heard her voice through the floorboards. Upstairs, the floor creaked. Not the sound of footsteps but just a shift, like someone turning in a dream. I thought about going up. About lying beside her and pretending we were still the people we tried to be but before I could go to her she came to me.

I didn't hear her come down the stairs.
Just felt her presence behind me, bare feet on cold tile, breath soft like she'd sleepwalked into the kitchen. I didn't turn around. Not yet. And then she said it.

"Why aren't you sleeping Roy?"

The words sounded too soft and familiar like she'd said it a thousand times. I turned. Slowly. Her eyes were distant, still glazed with sleep or something worse.

But the moment our gazes met, I saw it happen. The recognition. The recoil. The horror folding in behind her eyes.

"Edward," she whispered. "I meant-Edward. I mean..."

She trailed off, like the correction itself hurt. I didn't move or speak. I could just stare. Because the damage was done and I didn't know which was worse:

That she said his name... Or that, for a second, some part of me wanted to answer.