Chapter 95. Not unless

Chapter 95. Not unless
We sat in silence for a while. Somewhere outside, a bird cried out in the fading light. The heaters hummed quietly.
“You deserve someone who trusts you enough to let you decide how to fight your own battles,” Lara said finally.
I looked up at her, and in that moment, her voice didn’t sound flirtatious or sarcastic. Just real.
“I’m not saying she doesn’t love you,” she added. “But sometimes people mistake possession for love. And that’s a dangerous kind of love.”
I swallowed around a lump in my throat. “Thanks.”
She shrugged. “Just saying what someone should say.”
We finished our sandwiches in silence, my brain foggy with too many questions, too many feelings. I wanted to cry, scream, sleep for a hundred years. Instead, I sat here chewing the crust of a sandwich, pretending my heart wasn’t splintering at the edges.
Lara, of course, noticed.
She didn’t press. She rarely did. Instead, she leaned back on her elbows, gazing up at the glass panes above us, clouded with condensation. The dusky sunlight filtered through like old paper, casting long shadows of the vine leaves across her face. She looked carved out of something too solid to ever hurt.
“I know you don’t want to talk about it,” she said finally. “But if you ever do…”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. She didn’t smile or push—just shifted her weight slightly closer until her shoulder nearly brushed mine.
“I meant what I said earlier,” she added, softer now. “About possession. Some people don’t know how to love without gripping tight. Without control.”
That hit too close.
I pressed my palm against my knee, grounding myself, voice shaky. “She promised to try. To be better. And I believed her.”
Lara looked at me then—not the usual amused tilt of her mouth, but with something more like gentleness. “Maybe she is trying. But you get to ask if that’s enough for you.”
I blinked down at my lap. “It doesn’t erase what she did. Or what she hid.”
“No,” she said simply.
Was it all Irene? The notes to Diana, the mirror messages, the fear? I didn’t even know anymore. Part of me didn’t want to believe it was all her—but another part, the hurt one, wondered if it mattered. She still stood in the center of it. And she never let me in.
Lara glanced over, watching me. “You’ve been carrying a lot.”
My throat bobbed. “I don’t know what to do.”
“You don’t have to decide today.”
She reached over and brushed a strand of hair from my cheek. Her fingers were warm, calloused from lab tools and garden shears. The touch lingered, a heartbeat longer than necessary.
I looked at her, really looked at her. How calm she always was. How careful. And how I sometimes hated her for it. For being so unaffected while I burned from the inside out.
“You’re not trying to be the rebound girl, are you?” I asked before I could stop myself.
Her mouth twitched. “Not unless you want me to be.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s not an answer.”
“No,” she said, more serious now. “I’m not. I just like being around you. Whatever that means right now.”
She leaned in, slow and deliberate. I didn’t stop her. Maybe I should’ve. But in that second, all I wanted was to forget the chaos. Forget Irene’s lies, her hands letting go when I needed them to hold. Forget my own broken compass.
Lara’s lips brushed mine—light, unhurried, like she was letting me decide whether to meet her or not.
And I did.
Not with the hunger Irene kissed with. Not with the raw need. But with quiet desperation. With confusion. With longing to feel wanted and safe at the same time.
Her hand slid to my jaw, anchoring me.
But just as quickly, I pulled back. My chest felt tight.
“Emma—” she began.
“I can’t,” I said, voice barely a whisper. “Not now. I’m sorry.”
She didn’t look angry. Just… accepting. She nodded once and dropped her hand.
We sat in silence, knees barely touching.
When I finally looked up, Lara’s gaze was already on the window. “Still here, if you need me.”
“I—feel flattered,” I said, words stumbling out on a shaky exhale. “But also… tangled. I like working with you, and I value that you don’t push.”
A small crease formed between Lara’s brows—concern, not impatience. “Tangled deserves time,” she said. Then, softer: “If you ever want to test hypotheses about… this”—she tipped her chin toward the space between us—“I’ll ask permission twice.”
The knot inside me loosened another thread. “Thank you,” I said, meaning it. I drew a breath that felt strangely clear. “Right now I think I need my head, not my hormones.”
A quick, wry smile lit her face. “Classic Emma answer.”
She stood up and pressed the greenhouse keycard into my palm. “If you need quiet again, text. I’ll open shop.”
I nodded a “thank you” and rushed out. When my feet crossed the threshold of the greenhouse exit, I realized I was shaking. Not from what happened.
But from what didn’t.
The sky overhead was cloudless. Orion glimmered near the horizon, hunter frozen in perpetual aim. I drew a breath, letting the silence settle. In the stillness I felt grief for Irene’s choices, anger for Diana’s terror, but also a small, growing certainty: my choices would be mine, measured at my pace.
One star winked out behind passing cloud. I tapped the greenhouse keycard in my pocket, feeling its smooth edge—a reminder that steady lights existed even when storms threatened.