Page 113 of Into Pitch

“What are you doing?” He rasps, shoving up from the bed.

“I’m leaving.”

He looks as if he’s the one that’s just been hit with a sledge hammer, but he doesn’t stop me.

“You said I could go,” I throw over my shoulder, my voice too loud and brittle. “So I’m going.”

“You’re panicking,” he whispers.

“No shit? You told me you love me.” I bark.

His expression doesn’t change, or he fights for it not to. “And I understand why that scares you.”

“Yeah? Because this is how people trap you without meaning to and you know it.” I choke out as I yank the shirt over my head.

“I’m not trapping you.”

“I don’t know that, and that’s the problem.” I fire back.

I yank a pair of jeans on, fingers numb and heart racing so fast I feel dizzy.

“If I stay,” I say, the words spilling out now. “I’ll start believing you. And if I believe you, I’ll stop protecting myself.”

“And if you stop protecting yourself?” He challenges.

“I get hurt. Or worse—I disappear.” I breathe.

“Sadie, Christ. That’s not what this is about. I’m not asking you to wear chains and hitch yourself to my wagon. I am just telling you how I feel.”

I scoff and storm from the room, grabbing shit that belongs to me on the way out the door.

“I won’t chase you,” he calls as I reach the front door. My chest caves in and I freeze, my hand trembling on the handle as tears burn hot behind my eyes. I don’t turn around to face him, because I can’t. If I do, I might just break down and give in.

“I’m not saying goodbye,” I whisper, barely holding it together. It’s the least I can do.

“Good, because this isn’t over.” He answers firmly.

I yank the door open and the cold air slams into me as I bolt for the car. My legs shake as I shove everything in my arms into the backseat before I climb behind the wheel. I don’t ask myself how he’ll get home, he has his fucking phone. I don’t let myself ask anything as I peel backwards out of the driveway.

I sure as hell don’t look back.

If I do, I won’t leave.

And right now, leaving feels like the only way I survive.

Well, Sadie is gone.

I stand in the doorway long after she leaves, the night air still clinging to the threshold where her body passed through. The scent of her lingers though; soap, skin, the faint metallic note of adrenaline that always followed her fear. My hands hang useless at my sides, trying to figure out what the fuck comes next.

I close the door carefully, and I’m not sure why I lock it, but I do. The sound echoing too loudly in the hollow space she left behind. Somehow I make it back to our bedroom, my eyes drifting about it. The bed is wrecked. The sheets tangled and the pillows askew, the indentation of her body still warm where she curled into me only minutes ago.

I drop to the edge of the mattress and stare at the place where her spine had fit so perfectly against my chest.

Three days.

Three damn days of proximity that stripped something out of me I hadn’t realized was still intact, and she ran. I reach up, tracing the spot on my sternum where her head rested.

Love.