"I did something." Her voice tight at first as she pressed her knuckles against her lips, pushing back in the words that sheâd refused to explain to anyone that would have asked. But he didnât need to ask and it only added to her already tense nerves at trying to understand how heâd come to mean so much when she did nothing but shove him away, time and time again. He didnât need her mess of problems but she didnât have the choice that he did to walk away from them. "Or rather I did someone," she added with a hoarse chuckle that was bitter and empty before glancing over her shoulder and down at him, not meeting his gaze as she stared at the floor instead. This wasnât the Meg that she knew herself as, this was the girl sheâd been before Wyatt, before everything, the one that was easily breakable and she hated herself then but couldnât undo what sheâd done in the past. "That man at the bar."
He waited, patient and vigil with no urge to push her further than she was willing to go. In the time that he had known her he knew how careful he needed to be, his choice in words his actions but now seemed to feel different. There was something in her voice, in her actions that made him question his quietness and reservations, that made him want to reach out and touch her and he would have. His fingers twitching, hovering from his lap until he heard her speak again, nearly choking on her words as she mentioned the man from the bar. He remembered him so vividly he could feel the tension lock in his jaw and the mere memory of him made his skin crawl, but not nearly so much as the thought of his hands on her in any way. He didn't have the right ask how or why though her wanted to as for the first time since he was young he felt a sense of loathing, it wasn't for her and yet he couldn't quite look at her straight away. "I don't understand." He didn't, not fully unless his recollections of that night differed from her own.
