I hate myself.
Almost.
Not really.
Argh.
I don't know.
But I also don't know what to say to Theo now. We're silent again. Not like before. This one's tighter. My stomach churns and the wind feels colder, even though the sun is slowly rising. My skin itches under his hoodie, like my guilt is trying to crawl out.
I open my mouth. Nothing comes out. I close it again. Like a fish dragged onto land.
Then, just as I finally find words—he beats me to it. "There's something I want to tell you," Theo says. His voice cuts through the quiet so cleanly, I flinch.
He doesn't look at me. Just picks at a bit of lichen growing between the cracks in the rock, eyes still on the sea. Or maybe the past.
"I want to tell you a story. Tho, I can't tell you the whole of it."
That gets my attention. I turn to him properly, legs crossed, hoodie sleeves bunched in my fists. "Okay," I say, quiet.
