Evan's POV
The room they keep for me above the old boat shed is barely a room, a mattress and a hook for my jacket and a window that looks out at the black water, and I lie on the mattress in the dark and stare at the ceiling and hate myself with a thoroughness I've had years to perfect.
I called it a mistake. To her face. I stood in the streetlight and looked at the girl who told me she lay awake sick with worry over me, the girl I kissed like she was air and I was drowning, and I called it a mistake and told her to forget me and watched it land in her like a blade going in. I watched her face when I said it. I'll be seeing that face for a long time. She didn't cry, she's too proud to cry in front of the person hurting her, but something went out of her eyes, some light I put there with
