Tears slipped down my cheeks. “I said I’m fine…”
“No, you’re not!” he exploded, stepping closer. “You’re falling apart and you don’t even see it. You refuse help, you push everyone away, and you act like none of this matters. Well, it does, Brit. It matters to me. Or at least it used to.”
His words sliced deeper than I expected.
“I’m… I’m sorry…” My voice turned small, thin, childlike, and my fingers trembled as I reached for him, my thumb instinctively slipping back between my lips.
His eyes darkened. “Brit… no. Don’t do that.” His voice softened — for a second, just a second. “Brit, don’t go there. Please.”
But I couldn’t stop.
The child in me surged forward, and my legs swung off the bed, toes brushing the cold floor as I stood, rocking back and forth.
“I didn’t mean to be bad,” I whispered, thumb muffling the words. “I’ll be good, I promise. Please don’t be mad, please…”
Ace froze. His eyes widened slightly, the anger faltering as realization flickered across his face.
“Brit…” he murmured, softer now, cautious. “Brit, what’s happening?”
But I was slipping under, voice rising in a high, sing-song whisper.
“Mommy said I was bad, Daddy said I was bad… I can be good, I can be good…” I spun slowly in a circle, fingers tangling in my hair, laughter bubbling out in a strange, broken sound.
“Brit!” Ace’s voice snapped sharp.
I crumpled to the floor, hugging my knees, rocking faster.
“I’ll be good, I’ll be good, I swear, don’t go, don’t go, don’t go…”
I barely felt it when Ace knelt beside me, his hands hovering uncertainly near my shoulders.
“Brit, hey, hey—look at me.” His voice cracked. “Please, look at me.”
But the words slipped past me, the child pulling the strings now.
“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” I whispered, rocking harder, the tears blurring everything.
And then his hands gripped my shoulders — firm, steady, shaking slightly.
“Brit, stop. Please. Please.”
Something in his voice cut through the fog. Slowly, hesitantly, I lifted my head.
His face was pale, his eyes raw and unguarded, a muscle jumping in his jaw.
“Don’t do this to yourself,” he said hoarsely. “Don’t do this to me.”
I sucked in a ragged breath, thumb slipping from my mouth.
“Get help, Brit,” he whispered. “Please.”
For a moment, I almost said yes. Almost reached out, almost let him pull me back.
But the smile came first — trembling, broken, desperate.
“I’m fine,” I whispered. “Really.”
And just like that, something shattered in his gaze.
