Bad guy (REWRITTEN)

Chapter 23

                             Anna

The morning air bit at my cheeks as I stepped out of the house, Mom's warning still ringing in my ears like a bad echo. "You better come home early, Anna. Your dad is mad pissed off today so don't make things worse than yesterday"

She'd practically shoved my phone into my hand like I was a child who couldn't be trusted with it. I'd nodded, said nothing, spun on my heel, and walked out before the guilt could choke me completely.

My bike was chained to the front porch railing. I crouched, unlocked it, fingers numb from the cold and something heavier. That's when I heard the low growl of an engine familiar. A black Dodge Challenger eased around the corner, tires whispering against asphalt, then pulled up slow and deliberate beside the curb. The tinted window slid down with a soft electric hum.

Billie.

She sat there behind dark lenses, hair messy in that deliberate way, black hoodie zipped halfway, silver chain glinting against her collarbone. She looked too good dangerously good and it made my stomach twist harder.

I should've kept walking. Should've gotten on the bike and pedaled until my lungs burned. Instead I stood frozen, bike between my legs like a shield, heart slamming against my ribs.

She didn't say anything at first. Just watched me through those shades. Then she tipped her head toward the passenger seat.

I hesitated long enough that the silence turned thick before I chained the bike back to the railing and crossed the sidewalk. Opened the door. Slid inside. Closed it with a quiet click that felt final.

The car smelled like her: leather, faint weed, the sharp citrus of her cologne, and something warmer underneath, something that was just skin and heat. She started the engine without a word and pulled away from the curb. School was only a five-minute drive. Five minutes to say what I'd been rehearsing in my head all night.

"I sent you a text last night" she said finally, voice low, careful. "You didn't answer"

I stared out the passenger window, watching houses blur past. "Do I have to?"

She exhaled through her nose a short, frustrated sound. "Well, you don't. But I couldn't sleep. Still can't. I keep replaying it yelling at you like that. I was scared shitless something would happen to you because of me. I'm still sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, Anna"

Each word landed like a stone in still water. Ripples spread through my chest. I wanted to reach over and touch her trace the line of her jaw, feel her pulse jump under my fingers but I kept my hands knotted in my lap.

"I forgive you" I said quietly. The words tasted like ash. "But there's something else I need to say. And I need you to listen. Really listen. Don't get mad. Just... hear me."

She didn't answer right away. Her knuckles whitened on the wheel.

"Will you stop the car for a second?" My voice came out smaller than I wanted.

She glanced at me only a second then eased over to the shoulder, killed the engine. The sudden quiet was deafening. No radio. No traffic. Just our breathing and the faint tick of the cooling motor.

"What is it?" she asked, finally looking at me. Really looking. The sunglasses were pushed up into her hair now. Her eyes were tired, red-rimmed, the blue dulled like storm clouds.

I twisted my fingers together until the skin turned white. "I had the best time with you, Billie. Every second. I like... everything about you. I still do" My throat closed. "But I need a break. I need time. To figure out how to breathe around all of this"

She went still. The hurt flashed across her face so fast I almost missed it then it hardened into something sharper.

"I ruined everything, didn't I?"

"No" I shook my head too quickly. "Don't take it like that. Needing space doesn't mean I stopped liking you."

"Then why?" Her voice cracked on the last word. "If you like me, why are you walking away? Is it because I hurt them? You know it was self-defense. They came to my house—"

"It's not just that" I cut her off, softer than I meant to. "It's everything. The guns. The violence. The people who want you dead. It's dangerous, Billie. And it's bleeding into my life now. My parents are losing their minds. I'm lying to them constantly. I'm scared every time my phone buzzes that it's going to be bad news about you. Or worse about me getting caught in the crossfire"

"Don't bring my shit into this" she snapped, volume rising. "It doesn't belong here. Not between us"

"It does" My own voice sharpened to match hers. "Because last night I watched you almost kill two men in your living room. You didn't even blink. And I stood there shaking, wondering if I was next. if one of them got lucky and put a bullet in you while I hid in a fucking closet. You almost died. Again. And you act like it's normal. Like it's just random fucking monday"

She flinched. Actually flinched.

"You think I want this?" she whispered. "You think I like looking over my shoulder every second? I'm trying to get out. I swear I am. But it's not that simple"

"Maybe it needs to be." The words tasted like betrayal even as I said them. "End it. The deal, the running, whatever it takes. Or this—us—it's going to keep getting worse until one of us doesn't come home. And I can't... I can't watch that happen to you. I won't"

Silence stretched so long I thought she might not answer at all.

Then she laughed—short, bitter, hollow. "So that's it? Walk away and hope I magically fix myself?"

"I'm not asking you to fix yourself for me" Tears burned behind my eyes but I refused to let them fall. "I'm asking you to choose something better. For yourself. If you can't—if you won't—then yeah. I have to step back. Because I care about you too much to stand by while you destroy yourself. And maybe me with you"

Her jaw worked. She stared straight ahead at the empty road like it might give her an answer.

I unbuckled my seatbelt. Opened the door.

"I'm sorry" I said, voice breaking on the last syllable. "I really am"

I stepped out. Shut the door. Started walking toward the school gates without looking back.

Behind me, the Challenger's engine didn't start right away. I heard it idle for a long minute—long enough that I almost turned around.

But I didn't.

I kept walking. Head high. Shoulders squared. Even though every step felt like dragging glass through my chest.