Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

She’s right.
Nodding, I acquiesce, holding my palms up in surrender. “You’re right, I
—”
“And if I did want to talk about it, what would I even say?” She shoves to
her feet, the theater seat bouncing closed as her weight leaves it. Pulling at
the hem of her short, lacy black dress, she walks over to me, gaze red hot
even in the dull lighting.
I don’t have to see her eyes to know they’re burning; I can feel them,
licking down my chest, setting my soul ablaze, dousing me in kerosene as she
steps back to admire the flames.
I would happily spend the rest of my life on fire if it meant getting to
keep her.
“Would you want me to tell you how it wrecked me, hearing that you had
a relationship with my mother?” Elena asks, her voice just a smidge louder
than necessary, and I can’t help wondering if it’s because she knows who’s in
the box beside us. If she wants them to hear. “Is that something that would
make you happy, Kal? Knowing you finally ruined me?”
The last syllable cracks, right as she stops in front of me, her toes
pressing against the tip of my black Oxfords. Every muscle in my chest
constricts, making breathing goddamn impossible while she’s standing here,
baring her soul, accusing me of being the reason it’s bloody and bruised and
broken beyond repair.
My hands twitch at my sides as she steps into me, pushing me flush with
the wall, jabbing her index finger into the middle of my chest. I want to haul
her into my arms, rain apologies down with my mouth and hope somehow
they make up for things.
I try to reach for her, but she juts her chin sharply, hands circling my
wrists, pinning them back. I could easily overpower her, but the longer I stare
at her, the longer I stand here absorbing the misery rolling off her in waves,
the more I realize I don’t want to.
This is what I asked for.
“Answer the question,” she snaps, moving so her hips brush mine, the
hem of her dress shifting slightly up with the motion.
Gritting my teeth, unsure if she’s trying to be seductive on purpose or if
she just can’t fucking help herself, I exhale harshly through my nose. “No,
Elena, that doesn’t make me feel good.”
Releasing one of my hands, she scores her fingernails down the front of