"How can you say that? How can you want to be with someone who?—"
"Because I want you. Not some version of you that exists without trauma. You. Exactly as you are right now." My voice is fierce. "Whatever healing looks like for you, however long it takes, I'll be here. Even if that means I never get to touch you again."
She stares at me, searching my face for a lie. For any sign that I don't mean it.
"You mean that," she whispers. Not a question. A realization.
"Every word."
"I don't know how to do this. How to be... this." She gestures at herself. "Broken and scared and unable to even let you?—"
"You don't have to know. We figure it out as we go." I shift slightly, making sure I'm not crowding her. "Right now, what do you need? What would help?"
She's quiet for a moment. "Can you just... stay? In the room? I don't want to be alone but I can't?—"
"I'll stay. I can sit in the chair if that's better. Or I can leave the door open and sit in the hall. Whatever you need."
"The chair," she says quietly. "Just... where I can see you."
I stand slowly and move the chair to where she can see me clearly from the bed. "I'm going to help you up now. I won't touch you unless you tell me it's okay. Can you stand on your own?"
She nods and pushes herself up shakily. Makes it to the bed. Climbs under the covers.
I sit in the chair, keeping my distance.
"Try to sleep. I'll be right here. Not going anywhere."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
She closes her eyes but her body is still tense. Still braced for something bad.
I sit there in the dark, watching her. Keeping my hands to myself even though every fiber of my being wants to hold her. Comfort her. Take away her pain.
But I can't. All I can do is be here. In this chair. Keeping my distance. Loving her from across the room because that's all she can handle right now. And maybe that has to be enough.
After what feels like hours, her breathing finally evens out. Real sleep this time. I stay in the chair, keeping watch. Keepingmy promise. Because I meant what I said. However long it takes. Whatever healing looks like.
I'm not going anywhere.
Even if it means I never get to touch her again.
CHAPTER 37
Elena
Five days.
I've been in Marco's apartment for five days, and I still wake up every morning not knowing where I am. Still jolt awake in the middle of the night convinced I'm back in that cell. Still flinch when anyone moves too quickly in my peripheral vision.
Five days, and I'm not getting better.
I'm sitting on the couch, staring at the fiddle leaf fig Marco had brought from my apartment. It sits by the window where it'll get the best light. All my plants are here now—scattered throughout his living room and bedroom like he's trying to recreate my apartment within his own space.
The gesture should touch me. It does touch me. But it also makes everything worse because every time I look at them, I'm reminded that I can't go home. That my apartment is a crime scene. That the life I had before is gone.
The door opens and Rina walks in with Sofia and Gianna trailing behind her. They've been coming every day. Sometimes together, sometimes separately. Bringing food I don't eat, asking questions I don't answer, sitting in silence because they don't know what else to do.
