Those two things are the only thing keeping me upright.
I’ve repeated those two things so many times in my head over the last day that the words have lost their shape, worn thin from desperation. Alive. She’s alive. If I stop thinking it, even for a second, I’m pretty sure everything inside me will come apart.
The monitor beside the bed emits a soft, steady rhythm. Too loud. Too fragile. Every beep feels like a reminder of how close I came to losing her.
I haven’t moves since I brought her in here.
Not to eat. Not to sleep. Not even when the ache in my spine turned sharp and punishing. Leaving her isn’t an option. Not now. Not ever again.
Her skin looks wrong against the white sheets. Too pale. Like all the warmth was drained out of her. Dark bruises bloom across her face and the scars on her arm and shoulder are red and angry around the stitches Elias had to put in where she was cut and stabbed. The thought of them doing that to her still makes something savage coil in my chest. Every time the nursechecks her injuries, I have to fight the urge to put my fist through a wall.
Footsteps sound on the stairs.
I don’t look away from her.
Marie stops at the edge of the room. She’s been with us long enough to know better than to interrupt unless it matters. She checks Peyton’s IV, glances at the monitor, adjusts something I don’t care about.
My eyes stay on Peyton.
Even like this, black and blue, with her hair in a tangled mess, lips cracked, dark circles under eyes, she’s devastating. Has been since the moment we found her at that shelter.
She hadn’t look like this then. She’d been thin, guarded, eyes sharp with a kind of quiet defiance that told me she’d learned early not to rely on anyone. Dirt under her nails. A split lip she’d pretended didn’t hurt. She’d stood between herself and the world like she was daring it to try again.
I remember thinking she was trouble.
I didn’t realize she’d bemine.
Maria clears her throat softly. “Vitals are stable,” she says. “Fever’s still down.”
I nod once, because if I speak, I’ll say something I can’t take back. Like how the violence is still simmering beneath the surface when I think of the image of her bleeding out, tied to that fucking chair.
Marie hesitates. “Colter…you should sit back. Let your body rest. I can watch her while you get something to eat.”
I finally look at her then, and whatever she sees on my face makes her stop talking. She gives Peyton one last glance, then backs away quietly, leaving us alone again.
Just me.
And the one who makes the stars shine.
I shift closer to the bed, careful not to jostle anything. My fingers hover over her hand before settling there, wrapping around hers like if I let go, she might disappear. Her skin is cool, but solid. Real.
Breathing.
Alive.
The room is dim, curtains drawn tight, the outside world held at bay. Shadows stretch across the walls, flickering every time the monitor blinks. Time feels strange here, thick, syrupy, like it’s daring me to blink and miss something important.
A soft sound breaks the silence.
Barely more than a breath.
My head snaps up.
Peyton’s brow furrows, lips parting as if she’s fighting her way back from somewhere dark. Her fingers twitch against mine.
“Hey,” I murmur, leaning in. “I’m here. Don’t rush.”
Her lashes flutter. Once. Twice.
