Page 82 of Endo
The cool night air hits me like a slap, but it doesn’t clear my head. Nothing does. I lean against the wall, staring up at the stars. Her words play on a loop in my mind, sharp and relentless.
“It can’t happen again, Reign. It was all a mistake.”
I bark out a humorless laugh, the sound bitter and sharp in the quiet alley. “A mistake,” I mutter, shaking my head.
She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t get what it’s like to claw your way back from the edge, to lose everything and still be standing. To want something so badly it feels like it’s the only thing keeping you alive, only for it to slip through your fingers.
But maybe she’s right. Maybe this was all a mistake.
I glance down at my bloodied knuckles, the ache in my chest so much worse than the bruises blooming on my ribs. The fights don’t fix anything. Neither does the pain. But it’s all I’ve got right now.
I take another swig from the bottle, the whiskey burning its way down.
And if I can’t have her?
I’ll take the hurt.
The ride homeis a blur of bad decisions and worse instincts. The night air bites at my skin, the rumble of the bike under me steady and unrelenting, like it’s the only thing tethering me to the earth. The whiskey burns in my veins, and the world tilts dangerously with every turn, but I don’t care.
I’m too drunk for this. Too angry. Too hurt.
The streets pass in a haze of headlights and shadows until I find myself on her block. I don’t even remember deciding to come here, but of course, I did.
Where else would I go?
I kill the engine, the silence deafening in its aftermath. Her apartment windows are dark except for the faint glow of a single lamp. I know which one is hers.
I always know.
Leaning forward, I rest my forearms on the handlebars and tilt my head back, the bottle of whiskey dangling loosely from my fingers. The stars above seem dimmer here, drowned out by the city lights, but the ocean isn’t far. I can smell the salt in the air, faint but constant, like a memory that won’t let go.
I take another swig, the liquid fire sliding down my throat as I look up at her window. She’s there, moving through her living room in a small tank top and shorts. Her hair’s pulled back, messy like she’s been running her hands through it all night.
Her nipples press against the fabric of her top, peaking in the cool air, and it stirs something in me—something raw and aching. But it’s her face that guts me. The furrow in her brow, the way her lips press together like she’s holding back tears. She’s upset. I don’t need to hear her voice to know it.
She’s a storm bottled up in a human body, waves crashing just beneath her surface. And I’m drowning in her, like I always do.
Why the hell is she pushing me away? She knows—sheknows—that whatever was between us was the only thing keeping us both afloat. We were the lighthouse for each other, the thing guiding us through the wreckage of everything we’ve lost.
And now she’s turned off the light. Left me adrift in the dark.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, dragging me out of my thoughts. I pull it out, squinting at the screen. It’s the group chat thread—one of the guys from the strip.
Kenzo: Don’t forget guys. The race is back on. Saturday night. The strip. Bets accepted till midnight. No later. Gonna be a wild night, yo. Be there.
I scoff, shoving the phone back in my pocket without replying. Of course I’ll be there. Nothing else for me to fucking do, and I know the guys will be there. She wants to act like this was all a mistake? Fine. I’ll show her just what kind of mistake she really made.
I take another swig, the whiskey almost gone now. For a moment, I consider going up there, pounding on her door, making her look me in the eyes and say all of it again. Tell me to my face that it meant nothing.
Thatwemeant nothing.
But I don’t.
Instead, I rev the engine, the roar shattering the quiet night as I peel away from her building.
My apartment isdark when I stumble inside, the whiskey and the ride swirling in my head like a riptide. The silence is oppressive, and I’m too wired to sleep, too hollow to sit still.
I strip off my gear and head to the bathroom, the fluorescent light harsh against the tile as I turn on the shower. The water’s scalding, but I barely feel it as it pounds against my skin, washing away the blood and sweat but not the ache in my chest.
