The memory is there, the memory of his betrayal, of his betrayal and my knowledge of it, and it is too much, it is too much, it is too much.
I close my eyes, and the darkness is as wet as the rain, as heavy as the storm, as dark as the storm.
But there is another darkness, another darkness that scares me more, another darkness that terrifies me more, another darkness that I can’t ignore, can’t ignore.
The darkness is Lucas. The darkness is me. The darkness is more.
“I feel it too,” I hear myself say, the words surprising, the words terrifying, the words surprising and terrifying and honest.
The building shudders with the storm, shudders with the night, shudders with the sound of my breath, with the sound of my breath.
I pour the coffee, and it is warm against my hand, warm and
