Chapter 3

I retreated back into the woods before they could see me. The walk back to my apartment felt like a hundred miles. The gash on my shoulder throbbed with a dull, persistent pain, a physical reminder of my invisible wounds.

The next day, Nathaniel came to find me. He looked tired, his hand bandaged.

"Stella, we need to talk," he said, standing in my doorway.

"About what?" I asked, my voice hollow.

"About Jennifer. About last night. It's not what you think."

But it was. It was exactly what I thought. As he spoke, my eyes fixed on his collar. A faint, pink smudge of lipstick. Jennifer's. From her tearful embrace.

His explanations about friendship and history and complicated feelings turned to static in my ears. The lipstick stain was the only truth I needed to see. It was a brand, marking him as hers.

"It's okay, Nathaniel," I said, cutting him off. I couldn't bear to hear the lies, however well-intentioned. "I understand."

He looked relieved, misinterpreting my resignation for acceptance. "Good. I just... I didn't want you to get the wrong idea before the wedding."

The wedding. The word felt like a joke.

"I'm tired," I said, stepping back. "I need to rest."

I closed the door on his confused face. I leaned against it, my body shaking. I slid down to the floor and finally let myself cry, silent tears for the five years I had wasted and the stupid, hopeful girl I had been.

I looked at the ugly cut on my shoulder in the mirror. The rival band's singer had been aiming for Jennifer. Nathaniel had shoved me out of the way to save her. He hadn't shielded me. He had moved me, an obstacle, so he could get to what was truly precious.

The memory was sharp, clear, and undeniable. His actions spoke louder than any excuse he could ever offer.

You can't lie about instinct. And his instinct was, and always would be, Jennifer.