The House on Spur Tree Hill

"Move from in front a mi," I say. But it comes out softer. Weaker. More honest than I intended.

I'd be on the first plane out of here tomorrow. Nothing that we've said in the past twenty minutes would matter once I am on that plane. We are tied to each other, and our pasts don't have to intertwine any more than they already have.

He doesn't move. I step sideways. He mirrors me, like he's tethered to the same gravity.

"Kymani-"

"Selah" My name in his mouth feels like a dare. A part of me wants it to feel like a promise. I shake the thought.

After what feels like a standoff written in the marrow between us, he finally exhales and steps back. Barely. But enough.

I don't waste it. I slip from his hold, my heartbeat pounding in my throat, in my ears, in the soles of my feet as I bolt toward the door. I leave him there. Leave the house. Leave the heat still burning between us.

And I run. Fast, desperate, the same way I did the first time I left this place. The same way I survived. I don't look back. Not at him. Not at the house. Not at the version of myself that's still trembling inside those walls.

Not anymore.