Page 4 of Relapse

He says it like it’s a joke, but his body doesn’t match it.

He pushes off the bike slow, real slow, like he’s in no rush because he already knows I’m not going anywhere. Boots scraping lightly against the pavement, shoulders rolling back as he closes the distance just enough to make it feel intentional.

His head tilts, just slightly, eyes dragging over me again, unapologetic, and clearly amused, like he’s already clocked exactly how much of a problem this is going to be for me.

That smirk doesn’t leave his mouth.

If anything, it deepens.

Like he’s enjoying this, knew exactly what I’d do the second I saw him, and I just proved him right.

“You know, you’ve got a real talent for dramatic exits,” I say, voice rough, a little wrecked, but still carrying just enough bite to keep things interesting. “Disappear, erase everything, and leave me in some random ass hospital, alone, thinking I hallucinated everything. Real fucking cinematic. Grammy award worthy no doubt”

His mouth twitches.

It’s not a full smile, but it's enough to make me want to throat punch him.

“Yeah?” he says, dragging on the cigarette like he’s not being accused of anything remotely serious. “And yet you look like you handled it fine.”

I let out a short laugh.

Sharp. Humorless.

“Oh, yeah. Totally fine,” I shoot back, rolling my eyes. “Woke up on a bathroom floor this morning with zero memory of how I got there, who I came with, or what I took, and somehow?” I shrug, smirking. “Still one of the easier mornings I’ve had lately.”

His eyes narrow slightly.

There it is.

Good.

I step in closer before he can say anything, tilting my head, letting my gaze drag over him slow and teasingly.

“Funny thing is,” I add, voice dropping just enough to bite, “I wasn’t even looking for answers anymore. I was just seeing how long it’d take.”

His brow shifts, just slightly.

“How long would take?”

“For you to show up,” I say, like it’s obvious. “Or him. Or both of you lurking around like you weren’t already watching.”

A beat.

I smile, sharp and mean.

His jaw tightens just a fraction, maybe not enough for most people to notice, but plenty for me.

“Yeah well if you didn’t want to be watched, maybe you shouldn't have come back here. You weren’t supposed to. That was the point of everything we did, little relapse.” he says.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” I add sarcastically as I step closer.

Not like, aggressively, but just enough to make a fucking point.

“I’m sorry that you idiots, dropped me at a hospital half fucking dead,” I continue, ticking it off like I’m listing charges. “Wiped my phone, cleared the motel, and made it look like the warehouse never existed. Sorry that me coming back to bury my sister, and having your pills wash up on the shore through a dent in your grand master plan.”

He flicks ash to the pavement, completely unfazed and steps toward me.

“It wasn’t some big, master fucking plan like you seem to think,” he snaps, voice rough, edges sharp with something that sounds a lot like anger, and something else he’s trying not to let through.