ASHLEY
There are a thousand names for girls who crawl back into bed with the boy who broke them.
Desperate. Masochist. Addicted.
...His fingers twitch—reach—find mine.
And for a second, I don’t move. I let them stay there.
Linked. Like they remember what my heart is trying to forget.
...Just loneliness wrapped in skin.
But God, I’ve missed this ache.
...Some cracked, masochistic part of me still thinks he’s the only one who could ever put me back together.
“Ash?”
I let my pinky slide into the curve of his like it never forgot how to fit there. “Hmmm?”
“Did you mean it?”
My chest goes tight. That same spot. Right under the bone. Where his voice used to live. A pause stretches. Ugly. Tense. Loud in all the ways we never are.
“Mean what?”
But I know. God, I know. I know w
