“I don’t know how to do that anymore,” I admitted. “Wait.”
Henry pulled me deeper against his chest until his mouth brushed my temple.
“You won’t be doing it alone this time.”
21
ARCHIE
Two days passed before I finally broke.
Not outwardly.
Nobody at Wexley would’ve looked at me and thoughtthat guy is actively unraveling in slow motion.There was no dramatic, life-altering breakdown where I collapsed onto the floor and started screaming into the void while violins played in the background.
Which would have been fair considering the circumstances.
No, I just slowly lost my fucking mind in quieter ways.
I brought clothes to Henry’s house because neither of us had pretended I’d be sleeping anywhere else. My backpack sat beside his dresser now. My toothbrush was next to his. Half my products had somehow migrated into his bathroom like they were filing legal paperwork to establish residency.
And every morning, I still went to class. I sat through lectures and answered questions—took notes I couldn’t remember writing afterward.
Meanwhile, Otto Keller continued existing in the world like he hadn’t split my life open straight down the middle.
That was the part my brain couldn’t settle around. Not the fake identity. Not even Ashford. It was thenormalcyof it.
The idea that somebody could carry a secret that monstrous and still smile at neighbors, still hold doors open for strangers, still walk through life untouched by what they’d done.
It made the world feel fake.
Like somebody had peeled the wallpaper back on reality and exposed mold underneath.
Rhys knew something was wrong.
I could tell.
He kept watching me during our lunch dates with this crease between his eyebrows, waiting for me to crack open and spill whatever was clawing around inside me. Twice, he’d reached across the table and squeezed my wrist like he was checking whether I was still physically present.
I almost told him, but every time I pictured Otto realizing we knew, cold slid down my spine hard enough to shut my mouth again.
So I kept pretending… but I wasn’t very fucking good at it.
By Thursday afternoon, campus felt too loud for my skin.
Students crowded the quad in clumps, backpacks knocking into shoulders, voices overlapping into one constant stream of noise that scraped against the inside of my skull.
The fountain near the library churned steadily beneath the drizzle, bikes clicking over wet pavement as people rushed between buildings before the next rain hit.
Everything around me kept insisting the world was normal.
I cut across the edge of the humanities courtyard with my hood pulled up and my headphones in, even though nothing was playing through them. Mostly, I just wanted an excuse not to talk to anyone.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
Daddy: There is lunch in my office for you. Come eat it.
Me: i’m not hungry