Xavier's eyes cracked open slow, his head pounding like he'd been hit by a freight train. The ceiling above him came into focus first — faint reflections of the city lights filtering through the blinds, slicing across the room in uneven lines. His throat was dry, his body heavy.
It was like he was having a terrible hangover, except he wasn't.
Then the memories hit him — Reva's voice, her face under the soft glow of streetlights, the way she said I love you like it tore out a piece of her. And him? He just stood there like a damn statue, said he'd see her soon, and drove off.
He groaned, dragging his hand down his face, fingers sliding through his hair like he could scrub off the guilt. "I'm such an asshole," he muttered under his breath. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing. "What the hell's wrong with me…"
