"How much?" Her voice was so quiet that if not for how keenly he was listening, it would have been swallowed by the wind, which howled like a wounded animal through the drenched streets.
"Frida, I-I..." His voice cracked, the words dying in his throat.
"How much was I worth to you, Laz?" It was the first time he'd ever heard raw pain in her voice, and it pierced through him like shards of glass.
The storm raged above them, lightning tearing across the sky, briefly illuminating the anguish carved into her face.
The rain was relentless, drumming against the pavement, cascading down their bodies, but it was nothing compared to the storm inside him.
And he caused it.
It was his fault.
The air was thick with the scent of wet earth and regret, her red-rimmed eyes staring through him like he was the ghost of someone she used to trust, his fault.
"I know I don't deserve for you to even listen to me." His voice was barely a whisper, trembling against the cacophony of rain and wind.
