if callieâs guilt over this â different from the one that resided in her heart and had long ago seeped into her soul by staining it red â was a serpent snaking its way around her chest, tightening so it became harder to breath, cornering her heart until it had to beat double-time, then rafeâs expressions, so honest in contrast to hers, was the snakeâs bite, and his question the poison that now flowed through her veins. she didnât know which one was worse, his faith or his doubt. the former was the equivalent of an honor that she had stolen, coerced him to give her, and the latter an unbearable hesitation borne out of a misgiving of his own worth. it was the shame that clouded his eyes and tone, as rafe was finally able to finish his question, that made the choice for her. if it was a decision between her own pain and guilt â friends, ghosts, sheâd grown familiar with over the years though time had never dulled their sharp blades and the way they struck against her â and this shame and self-contempt that he seemed to hold, that she could not bear to see draped across his brows like a shadow, then there truly was no choice at all. so why could she not make the sacrifice she knew she should ?
some would call it self-preservation, but callie had long known it for what it was: indulgence and conceit. her avoidance of rafe was to protect herself, to allay her own guilt, to convince herself that if she withdrew enough, she would not have to bear the burden of a trust she was unworthy of. she had sought it out and won it, not out of kindness, but out of a need to prove to herself that she possessed it â proof that she was undeserving. but she had accepted it, selfishly, sheâd made her own promises in return, selflessly, and though they were ones that she wanted to keep, callie still dreaded the moment she would be called on to do so; every moment spent with him was a risk she couldnât afford, not when her confession lay so heavy on her tongue whenever she saw him, waiting for the right moment to escape, to ruin her once more.Â
if she wanted to save her secrets, she would lie â say yes. but she had already told him too many of those, everything left unsaid far more significant than any of the words sheâd ever spoken to him. and besides, hadnât she decided already ? there was no choice: the uncertainty in his gaze and in his tone threatened to rip her mask in two and pry open her jaws so she could scream the truth. and that was what she would give him, even though it wasnât the one he deserved, even though it hid its own lie. â rafe, itâs not stupid, and this has nothing to do with what you told me. â it had everything to do with the secrets heâd shared, but never in the way he implied, as if it was him who disgusted her instead of herself. â iâve just been busy. â but you know you can always come find me. it was something callie couldnât bring herself to voice aloud, because she would not be able to endure the disgrace of something so false. instead she deflected, her laugh brittle, though her eyes were still warm â as they only could be when looking at him, despite everything else â â you should be busy, too. i hope youâve been studying while staying out of trouble. âÂ
     â of course not. â the words rushed from his mouth like a waterfall, surging out to reconcile the rift between them before it could grow any wider. he didnât even know it was happening, at first, the simplicity of the comfort between them thinning beneath the surface. â itâs finals. just kind of forgot how busy it gets. â it was like ice at the beginning of spring: outwardly, the exterior was fine. unbroken. there was seemingly nothing to worry about, and tentative steps could be taken off shore. but underneath, just beneath where the water slowly started to warm, was where the danger began. this felt like that first crack, the first warning that something wasnât quite right, even as callie reassured him that there werenât any fractures beneath his feet, it was safe. he should feel safe. but he didnât.Â
    he gave her a false smile that rang true even though he didnât feel it. though he could never know fully what callie was feeling, what she was thinking, rafe knew how to trust his own gut. you didnât grow up in places like chihuahuita in el paso, didnât run with gangs for years on the streets of boyle heights, you didnât live like rafe had without building up some kind of intuition. he wasnât traditionally smart, not by a long shot. callieâs time spent in all those labs ? he was sure that part probably was true, as intelligent as she was, the focus for which theyâd selected her for this team, and counting as busy as they all were with finals. but where she had a knack for taking care of the team, for the formulas and chemical names that would never come easily to him, he had the sense to know she wasnât telling him the full truth. heâd learned how to evaluate someoneâs mood from constantly watching tony, how to sense when someone was feeling dangerous or calm or somewhere in between. callie was settled, balanced, sweet; she always was, but there was an undercurrent of something. he could read a room; where callie could do the same and extend the golden hand of kindness across a crowd, he knew how to twist that trust. make them fear him. even that required some kind of ability to sense what he was getting into â and he knew by now when to follow his gut.
     â i have been studying, actually, â he replied gamely, allowing himself ( and her ) to play into the notion that everything was normal. everything was fine. he even managed to smile again, producing a laugh from somewhere within himself. â doesnât sound like me, right ? but i have been. if i get an A in somethinâ other than spanish, itâll be a miracle. i think iâll pass out from joy if i get a solid B in â well, anything. â for once, his words held a note of truth. he was studying, yes. he hoped to do well, of course. but the sentiments felt like jumping through hoops, ticking off boxes as they both pretended to maintain this conversation about how busy they were. too busy, even, for a text.Â