1.1 | constellations of you and me ✓

16 | ara

ELOISE HAS ALWAYS WANTED A SOFT EPILOGUE. She doesn't know what that means yet—doesn't have a clue, really, as the hot blood staining the inside of her mouth starts to taste like bitter religion and burning sulfur.

There's something to be said about being let down slowly: the agonizing, prickling sensation of it as icy disappointment runs through flesh and veins like lust, or how the knife underneath her thick skin starts to become wickedly sharp.

And it hurts. Everything hurts.

These past four days have been absolute hell, and today is no exception. Head resting in the crook of her elbow, she presses her body deeper into her mattress and lets flashbacks run her by like a broken waterfall. Things are settling back into their normal routine: Chase is gaining her fiery confidence back, Parker and Rory aren't walking on eggshells, and Eloise—Eloise can't stop thinking about the what-ifs.

She didn't know what to say when she saw her friend passed out on the couch with Adrian bent over her, body tense and eyes wide. Didn't know if there was anything to say except apologize, to which she bit her tongue because Jonah's voice drowned over her like milk and honey.

I want you to stop apologizing when all you do is give.

But her giving is never enough, Eloise acknowledges, and so she spent the next couple of days wallowing in her silence and hazy confusion, thinking about spiraling events.

***

Jonah drives her back to her apartment in their own atmosphere of tense heartbreak and silence. She's still recovering from his words—not because he's wrong, but because she knows he's right. God, and if she could stop feeling like this, she would in an instant.

It's not her choice.

Her boyfriend keeps his distance as the car finally rumbles to a stop, and her eyes flicker to everywhere but him. He's still agonizingly beautiful underneath a twilight sky: lips soft, eyes sharp, and body sinful. Reveling in his warmth even as the water inside her soul begins to freeze, Eloise doesn't mind being burned by his fire.

He turns to face her, and as her hands itch to push away a fallen dark lock of hair in his eyes, she doesn't. His words hurt her, despite the fact that they're true, because she's weak and human and vulnerable. And she hates it—hates feeling like this, like she's always a piece of glass that's half-shattered.

"Ellie, I—"

If he digs deeper into her wounds, she knows she'll crack. "I'll call you soon," she murmurs, head tilted to the ground as she opens the car door.

Jonah's hand darts out quickly to snag her wrist gently, and her bottom lip trembles. He's aware of what he's doing, of what she's feeling, and the information is enough for Eloise to shake it off gently. Because if there's one thing that she hates, breaking down is excruciatingly painful.

But the next thing he says sends a line of starlight straight down the nerves of her spine. "Promise me," he breathes. "Promise you'll call." She closes her eyes as he runs the pad of his thumb across her open palm, and her knees grow slightly weak.

Exhaling a slow breath, she squeezes his hand in response. "I promise," she whispers, and her voice is too soft for him to hear. As Eloise heads back inside with a pounding heartbeat and trembling willpower, she feels his gaze on the middle of her back. It's enough to propel her to walk faster.

Inside, she sees Chase sprawled out on their couch, thick curls splayed out wildly like a cursed halo. Her eyes are half-open and fluttering against the skin of her cheekbones, and Eloise clenches her jaw. It's sick that people like Jayden Bradshaw exist, and it's even more fucked-up that he's gotten away with so many things. She takes a step, but Adrian beats her to it. Bending down on both knees, she watches as the boy with golden hair places a pillow underneath her friend's head and adopts a pained expression. The time swirling within cerulean irises is so intense that Eloise forgets where she is for a second, and she feels a bit guilty for intruding on a private session.