Page 53 of With This Mask

"Because I have to," I whisper, the truth of it clawing up my throat. "We can't ignore the world outside this apartment, Alec. It's suffocating, and I can't breathe."

"Can't breathe?" His tone softens, just a fraction, but it's enough to make my resolve waver. "Salem, talk to me. Really talk to me. We can figure this out together."

"Can we?" My question hangs there, heavy and loaded. But deep down, I know the answer is buried under layers of our differences, hidden beneath the surface of whispered arguments and stolen moments.

"Damn it, yes!" He steps toward me, but I sidestep, putting distance between us again. "Don't walk away from me, from us, without giving it a real shot."

"Maybe walking away is the real shot, Alec." It's a low blow, and I see it land, see the hurt flash across his face before he can mask it with irritation. "Maybe it's the only way to save what little we haven't already torn apart."

"Save?" He shakes his head, disbelief etched into every feature. "You're not saving anything by running."

"Who says I'm running?" I counter, but even as the words leave my lips, I know there's truth in his accusation. Maybe part of me is sprinting as fast as I can from whatever we might have become. "I'm just trying to be realistic."

"Realistic," he echoes, his laugh devoid of any real amusement. "Since when did you start hiding behind that excuse?"

"I'm not hiding," I insist, but my voice lacks conviction.

"Could've fooled me," he mutters, his gaze never leaving mine, as if he's trying to decipher the codes written into my soul. "Could've fucking fooled me, Salem."

My fingers curl into fists at my sides, nails biting crescents into my palms. It's a feeble attempt to keep the tears from spilling over, my whole body taut with the effort of holding back.

"I should've known better," I choke out, my voice barely more than a whisper. The words taste like ash, heavy with untruth. "We... we're just... Look at us, Alec. We're always at each other's throats."

There's a beat where only our breathing fills the space—a harsh sound in an air too thick with unspoken things. Things I can't let myself say.

"The fact that you don’t back down and I don’t bow out is what makes us work." His voice is dangerously low, a simmering pot ready to boil over. He takes a deliberate step closer, his height and presence encroaching on the little empty space left between us. "That's bullshit, Salem, and you know it."

I flinch, the lie hanging heavy between us. But I can't tell him the truth; I can't expose the soft underbelly of my fear.

"Fuck, Salem..." His voice breaks, and he takes another step closer, his eyes never leaving mine, searching. "Just... give me the truth. Please."

I pivot on my heel, a storm of hurt threatening to spill from my eyes. "I can't do this anymore," I murmur. "There's nothing more to say."

"Nothing more—" His voice cracks, laced with disbelief.

The room is a vacuum, each second stretching, filled only with the sound of our breaths. My fingers brush the cold metal of the door handle, the chill seeping into my bones, mirroring the hollow feeling in my chest.

"Goodbye, Alec." The word goodbye feels foreign, as if my mouth isn't made to form such a final, heavy thing. But it’s all I have left to offer.

"Wait, Salem—" He starts, but the silence swallows the rest of his plea.

With a deep breath that doesn't quite steady me, I pull open the door. The click of the latch is a gunshot in the quiet room, loud and deadly.

A single tear slips from my eyes as I step through the door. I pull it shut behind me as another follows.

I take quick steps down the hall as a sob escapes my lips. Another one shoots pain through my chest, and I wrap my arms around my waist, trying to hold myself together.

I hear the sound of a door opening behind me as I dart down the hall and another sob rips through me. But no footsteps follow behind as I turn the corner and crush the button to call the elevator. Mercifully, it slides open immediately.

Tears blur the sterile numbers lighting up above the elevator doors. They slide hot and fast down my cheeks, and I let them fall. I feel like I’m dying. Like I’m ripping myself in two.

And as I see myself in the reflection of the doors, I completely fall apart.

chapter eighteen

The glow of my phone’s screen is a cold comfort and torture in the dimness of my room. The video is simple. It’s Alec, sitting in a chair, wearing a black t-shirt and jeans, and of course his mask. He stares out the window, his eyes haunted looking. The camera very slowly zooms in on him while a song filled with heartache plays.

He looks broken. He looks a little angry. He looks… empty.