June

I watch from the rear window as Hermes’s bike speeds off, the red light fading until it disappears completely. My chest heaves so hard it hurts. God, how stupid could I be? How stupid was I to think Hermes actually felt something other than pity for me?

My reflection glares back at me through the glass — teary eyes, trembling chin, lips pressed into a bitter line. He didn’t love you, June. He pitied you. Every smile, every soft laugh, every story about his past — all pity. The ...