Clothes draped over the chair in the corner.
Boots by the door.
No pictures.
No personal shit.
Just a space I sleep in between club business and trying not to think about the girl currently standing in the middle of it.
"Bathroom's there," I tell her, nodding toward the en-suite. "You should drink some water."
She doesn't move toward the bathroom.
Doesn't move at all.
Just stands there, looking at me with those green eyes that see too much and not enough.
"Why'd you come get me?" she asks.
"Already told you."
"No. Really. Why do you always come?"
Because I can't not.
Because watching you destroy yourself is killing me.
Because I'm in love with you and I don't know how to stop.
"Because someone should," I say.
"But why you?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes."
The word hangs between us, heavy with meaning I'm not sure she even realizes.
"Ingrid—"
"They don't come for me," she interrupts. "Njal didn't. Bjorn didn't. But you always do. Why?"
"Because they're idiots who didn't deserve you."
"And you do?"
Yes.
No.
Maybe.
"I'm not trying to deserve anything," I tell her. "I'm just trying to make sure you're okay."
"I'm not okay."
The admission is so quiet I almost miss it.
