Chapter 27

Twenty-Seven

I sent the text last night: Meet me at the park. Noon. It had taken almost an hour to type those seven words and another thirty minutes to hit send. But as I sat on the weathered bench overlooking the frozen pond, I knew there was no going back. The winter air bit at my cheeks, sharp and unforgiving, as if daring me to flinch.

The park buzzed faintly with life—families walking dogs, kids bundled up and chasing each other across the snow-dusted paths. It wasn’t crowded, but it wasn’t empty either. It was just the right amount of noise to remind me I wasn’t alone. Not really.

I pulled my coat tighter, my gloved hands gripping the edge of the bench as if it could anchor me. The tension in my chest coiled tighter with each passing second. I’d planned this. I’d told myself this confrontation was necessary, that it was the only way to take back control of my life. But now, as the moment loomed, doubt gnawed at the edges of my resolve.

The sound of heavy footsteps crunching on gravel snapped my attention forward. Owen.

He walked toward me, his pace uneven, as if the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders. His disheveled appearance was a far cry from the polished golden boy I’d once known. His hair was messy, his clothes rumpled, and dark circles framed his eyes like bruises. For a fleeting second, I thought I saw hesitation in his gait, like he was second-guessing every step.

I hated the way my chest tightened at the sight of him, hated the flicker of something unnameable stirring beneath my anger.

He stopped a few feet from the bench, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Kira,” he said, his voice rough, like he’d been swallowing glass.

“Sit,” I said, not bothering with pleasantries. My tone was firm, leaving no room for argument. “This happens on my terms.”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening like he wanted to push back. But then he nodded and lowered himself onto the far end of the bench. The distance between us felt like a canyon, yet still too close for comfort. I positioned my body towards him, the cold air amplifying the heat of my rising fury.

“You took everything from me, Owen.” My voice trembled, but it didn’t falter. “And you told yourself it was for my own good. Do you even understand how twisted that is?”

He flinched, his shoulders curling inward as if my words were physical blows. “I didn’t want to hurt you in the basement,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “I thought… I thought you needed it. That you needed to feel something to stop you from leaving me.”

I shook my head, disbelief twisting in my chest. “You thought pain was the answer? That breaking me would somehow save me?” My voice rose, bitter and raw. “And the party? That wasn’t about saving me, was it? You wanted to hurt me.”

He froze, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t deny it. “I—” His voice cracked, and he exhaled shakily. “Yeah. I wanted to hurt you that night. I wanted to hurt you so badly you’d stop haunting me. So I could stop…” He trailed off, unable to meet my eyes.

“So you could stop wanting me,” I finished for him, the words tasting like bile on my tongue. “You thought destroying me would fix you .”

“No! That’s not—” He cut himself off, his hands curling into fists on his lap. His head dropped, and he exhaled shakily. “I thought it would push you away from me. I thought if I hurt you enough, you’d stop being in my head. I didn’t think it would… I didn’t think?—”

“But it did!” My voice cracked as the words tumbled out, sharp and cutting. “And you didn’t stop it, Owen. You let it happen. You didn’t just hurt me—you fucked up my life!”

His head dropped, his shoulders trembling under the weight of my words. For a moment, I thought he might cry, but when he lifted his gaze, his eyes were dry, filled with a raw, unfiltered desperation. “I hate myself for it,” he said, his voice barely audible. “I hate myself every second of every day for what I did to you.”

“Good,” I spat, my tone as icy as the air between us. “You should.”

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. I could hear the distant laughter of children playing, the faint rustle of leaves in the wind. But none of it mattered. The weight of this moment pressed down on me, forcing me to confront the man who had turned my life into a waking nightmare.

“You don’t even understand what you took from me,” I said finally, my voice trembling with barely restrained emotion. “My safety. My trust. My sense of self. You… you shattered all of it. And for what? Because you were scared? Because you couldn’t handle your own feelings?”

“Kira,” he began, his voice breaking. “I… I didn’t know what I was doing. I was out of control. But I never stopped… I never stopped caring about you.”

I stood abruptly, the motion startling him. “You don’t get to say that,” I said, my voice trembling with fury. “You don’t get to twist this into something about care. What you did wasn’t care, Owen. It was ownership. It was control. And it was evil.”

He rose too, his hands reaching out before falling uselessly to his sides. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cracking. “I’ll spend the rest of my life being sorry. I?—”

“Good,” I cut him off, my voice cold. “Because I’ll spend the rest of mine undoing what you did to me.”

I turned and walked away, my boots crunching against the gravel path. I didn’t look back, even when I heard the sharp intake of his breath, the sound of him breaking behind me.

With each step, the weight on my chest lifted, just a little. For the first time in what felt like forever, I was walking toward something instead of running away.

Toward myself.