CLAUDE
SHE WAS ALREADY waiting when the car stopped.
Ava.
Pretty as a painting. Not a hair out of place, makeup soft and pink like innocence still lived on her skin. She stood just a little too close to the door, like she wanted to be the first thing I saw. Like that was supposed to mean something to me.
It didn’t.
The door opened, and I stepped out. She smiled, soft and sweet, like she had rehearsed it in the mirror.
“Claude,” she said, voice breathy like we were lovers, like we weren’t the wreck we always were. Like she wasn’t the reason for everything that had shattered inside me.
Her hands were warm when they found mine. Too warm. Too eager.
I didn’t grip back.
She didn’t care.
She tugged my hand with both of hers, pressing it against her stomach. Flat. Smooth. Nothing there
