My Enigma

Chapter Thirty-Three

Aurora's POV

The engine purred softly beneath us, a low hum that filled the silence no one seemed brave enough to break.

I sat in the backseat, arms folded across my chest, forehead resting against the cool window. The outside world rushed past in blurs of green and gray, too fast, too bright.

Too much.

Hanna was in the passenger seat, chatting lightly with Connor about something school-related, her voice warm and bubbly like always. I didn't know how she did that: how she could smile like nothing had changed when the ache in my chest felt like it had doubled in weight.

Connor glanced at me in the rearview mirror every so often, but he didn't say much. Maybe he could feel it, the heaviness. The invisible weight pressing against my shoulders. Or perhaps he just knew better than to ask.

"Want music?" he asked after a while.

I shook my head.

He nodded, understanding. The silence returned.

But inside my head, there was no quiet—only him.

Luke.

The way he looked at me on that porch. Like he was sorry. Like he meant every word. Like I was still important.

And for a moment, I wanted to believe it. I wanted to let myself fall again. Let myself soften. Let my guard down.

But then I remembered all the unanswered texts, the days of silence, and the feeling of not being enough.

"You okay?" Hanna turned in her seat, reaching a hand toward mine.

I nodded again, not trusting my voice.

Weed still clung to my clothes, and his scent still lived in the sleeves of my hoodie. I could feel the ghost of his fingertips when he tried to hand me the blunt, trembling, unsure but still wanting.

I had wanted to believe him.

So badly.

I just didn't trust it.

Not anymore.

Not after he made me feel invisible.

I pressed my forehead harder against the glass, letting the coolness bite into my skin. Maybe it would distract me from the ache in my chest.

"You sure you're okay?" Connor asked gently.

This time, I looked up and met his gaze in the mirror. I gave him a small, tight smile. "Yeah. Just tired."

His jaw shifted slightly like he didn't believe me, but he let it go.

Good. Because I didn't have the words to explain what I was feeling anyway.

How do you explain what it's like to grieve two people simultaneously?

Levi.

And now... Luke.

Levi, I lost to death.

Luke, I lost to fear.

And the thing that cut the deepest?

Luke was still here. Breathing. Laughing. Existing.

He just didn't choose me.

Not when it mattered most.

I swallowed hard and blinked fast.

No crying.

Not now.

Not in this car.

Hanna's voice filled the space again, trying to pull me back with easy conversation. I barely heard her.

All I could hear was how Luke said, "I miss you."

And all I could think was, why did you leave me in the dark if you missed me that much?

******************

When we finally pulled up to my house, I exhaled like I'd been holding my breath the whole ride.

Connor parked slowly, not shutting off the engine just yet. Hanna turned in her seat again, worry carved into the soft lines of her face.

"Want us to wait until you're inside?" she asked.

I shook my head. "No, it's okay. I'll be fine."

She didn't believe me. I could tell. But she let me go anyway.

As I reached for the door handle, Connor surprised me.

"Rory," he said quietly.

I paused.

"I don't know what happened between you and Luke," he continued, "but... whatever it was, you didn't deserve to be hurt. You deserve only happiness and joy."

I blinked, stunned by how gently he said it.

"Thanks," I whispered, before slipping out and closing the door behind me.

The engine hummed for a few more seconds, then slowly pulled away, leaving me alone on the front porch.

I walked inside like a ghost.

Up the stairs.

Into my room.

Door closed.

And then finally I let it out.

I didn't cry.

But I breathed.

Big, heaving breaths. The kind that clawed their way up your throat and left your chest aching. The kind you only take when you're holding back everything else.

I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at nothing.

My phone buzzed in my hoodie pocket. I pulled it out.

A message. From Luke.

Luke: "Did you get home safe?"

I stared at it.

Typed.

Deleted.

Typed again.

Deleted again.

I tossed the phone across the bed like it burned me.

He didn't get to check in on me now, not after shutting me out for weeks.

Still... I didn't block him. I didn't delete his number. I didn't throw the phone out the window like I wanted to.

Because some stupid, bruised part of me still wanted to hear from him.

Still wanted to hope.

And I hated myself a little for it.