Chapter 24
Jul 18, 2025
The cafeteria buzzed around me like a hive I didn’t belong to. I sat at the edge of a table by the window, tray untouched, back straight, pretending not to notice the sideways glances aimed like darts at my spine. My phone was flipped over, screen dark. I didn’t bother checking it. I already knew it wouldn’t light up.
The seat across from me scraped back. I didn’t look up right away. Not until the familiar cologne hit. Faint. Expensive. The kind that used to make my pulse stutter.
“Miles,” I said flatly. He smiled, soft and rehearsed, like he thought he was still charming.
“Hey.”
I didn’t respond. He pulled the chair closer anyway. Sat beside me instead of across. Like we were still something we’d never actually been.
“You look tired,” he said. His voice dropped, just low enough to sound like concern. “Rough week?” The laugh that almost escaped my mouth tasted bitter. I kept it inside.
“What do you want?”
His eyes swept the room before answering. “To talk.”
“No thanks.”
“I mean it.” He leaned in slightly. “I still care, Zoey.” The words landed like static. Not quite real. Not quite false.
“Could’ve fooled me.” My voice was sharp, but I didn’t raise it.
“You’re clearly going through something. Everyone sees it.” He tilted his head, all sympathy and fake softness. “You’re vulnerable. And I hate seeing you like this.”
I froze. Not visibly. But inside, every bone turned to glass.
“Don’t use that word like you understand it.”
He reached out, like it was nothing. Like everything that happened between us was a distant joke. His fingers brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, grazing my jaw with practiced familiarity. It took a second. One heartbeat. Then another. And then I exploded.
I stood so fast the chair screeched behind me. His hand recoiled like I’d burned him.
“Stop touching me!”
Conversations around us paused. A few heads turned. One tray clattered to the floor. The silence that followed was sharp enough to draw blood.
Miles blinked. “Zoey, I didn’t mean—”
“You don’t get to act like you care now,” I snapped. My voice wasn’t soft anymore. “You had your chance. You torched it.” People were staring. I didn’t care. Maybe I wanted them to. Maybe I needed them to see what being done looked like.
“I was just trying to be there for you—”
“You never were.” My fists clenched. “You saw people turning on me, and instead of helping, you handed them the matches. And now you think what? I’m broken enough to let you play hero again?”
He paled, lips parting. “That’s not fair.”
I laughed, loud and sharp. “Neither were the rumors you spread. Or the way you let Amber drag my name through the dirt while you watched from the sidelines.” His expression shifted—embarrassment. Not guilt. Never guilt.
“You think I’m vulnerable?” I took a step forward. “I am. But not in the way you think. I’m vulnerable because I believed you wouldn’t break me. Because I thought you were decent.”
“I didn’t know it’d get this bad.”
“No, you didn’t care.”
The crowd was thicker now. Phones hovered, capturing pieces of a scene they wouldn’t understand. But I kept going. “You want to be the safe option again. The nice guy with a savior complex. But I’m not your project, Miles. I’m not some broken thing you can glue back together for your ego.”
He stared like he didn’t recognize me. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe I was finally someone he couldn’t mold.
“You know what’s pathetic?” I said, voice cold now. “I used to think the worst part of us was how we ended. Turns out, it was that we ever started.”
He stood slowly, trying to salvage dignity. “You’re spiraling.”
“I’m healing.”
He stepped back, jaw tight. “Whatever you say.”
“Yeah.” My breath came out shaky but sure. “Whatever I say.”
The next time someone tried to rewrite my story, they were going to find me holding the pen. But for now, I stood tall, chest heaving, eyes dry, voice clear.
“And now fuck off, Miles!”
