I freeze in the doorway. The safety is suffocating. My body can’t process it. I want to walk in, to collapse on the bed, to curl upand let the night swallow the last pieces of me that haven’t been claimed or broken or sold off. But I can’t move.
He turns, finally, and watches me. His eyes are softer now. Not gentle, but not all knives. He’s waiting for me to decide what I need. The silence is thick and patient.
I force myself across the threshold. My feet stick to the floor with every step, like the wood is remembering every girl who ever tried to outrun the world and failed. I stop in the middle of the room, arms wrapped tight around my waist. The dress sags, heavy with sweat and shame. My hair is a mess. My face is probably streaked and ugly. I try to smooth it down but my hands won’t listen.
He sits on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, fingers tangled together. He doesn’t look at me. He looks at my shadow on the wall, the way my feet wobble, the way my hands twist the fabric of the dress.
I want to say thank you. I want to say sorry. I want to say nothing at all.
Instead, I say, “Why did you bring me here?”
He shrugs. “Didn’t want you alone. Didn’t want me alone. Don’t trust the Academy and we’d have moved here soon anyway.”
His voice is raspy, but there’s a tremor in it. I almost miss it.
He motions at the bed and I sit next to him, his arms coming to wrap around me as my head falls onto his shoulder.
We exist like that for a long time. The silence is huge, but not empty. The old clock on the wall ticks, and the wind scrapes the windows. I think about the party, about the MC’s hand on my shoulder, the way his words curled around my neck and squeezed. I remember the faces in the crowd, the open mouths, the teeth.
I feel the shape of the night in my bones, and I wonder if this is what belonging feels like.
Death.
When I finally look up, he’s watching me. Not the shadow, not the wall. Me.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I want to laugh. Or cry. I want to be anything other than what I am, sitting here in a cabin in a dress I’ll end up burning, with a man who could kill me with his bare hands but hasn’t. One I’ve…
Fallen in love with.
“No,” I say. “I don’t know what the fuck I ever did to deserve this.”
He nods, like he expected that.
He stands and pulls me up, leading me down the hall to the modest kitchen. I sit at the table on a rickety chair while he fills a glass with water, brings it to me. I take it. My hand is shaking so hard I spill half of it on the floor. He doesn’t say anything, just grabs a towel and mops it up.
He’s careful with me. Like I’m made of glass, or maybe like I’m a wild animal about to bolt.
He pours another glass, hands it over. This time I drink it all, the water stinging my throat, making me cough.
“If you need to scream, do it,” he says.
I shake my head. “I don’t want to be loud.”
He smiles, sad and crooked. “Then be quiet. No one’s going to judge you here.”
I believe him. For some reason, I believe him more than anyone I’ve ever met.
So I scream.
It’s loud and endless and not at all quiet. If there were animals in the woods, they’ve fled by now.
The cold seeps out of my skin. The ache in my chest eases, just a fraction. The shame is still there, but it’s quieter now
Walking to the living room, I sit on the edge of the couch. The fabric is soft and swallows me whole. I wrap the blanket around my shoulders. I can’t remember the last time I was warm.
He sits beside me, holding me. Allowing me space to just exist as I need to right now.
