“Oh shit,” Nik cuts in, eyes lighting up. “I never heard this story…”
“It was after our first art class,” I explain, already grinning. “Axel got all jealous because I talked to you the whole time and then he said some stupid shit.”
“No! He didn’t!” Nik laughs like he’s just been gifted front-row seats to the drama.
“Yeah,” I confirm, shooting Axel a look. “But then he apologized and told me I was resilient.”
“I meant it,” Axel says more seriously now. “And I wanted you to have a reminder. Something you could look at every day, especially when things get hard.”
“Aww,” I tease, giving him a look. “You think I’m gonna use this every day?”
Axel mutters something unintelligible, cheeks pink, while I flip through the pristine pages. Something catches my eye. Tucked about a third of the way in is a drawing.
“Axel!” I gasp. “You drew this?”
In clean black ink, a fierce woman stares up at me. Her hair is made of serpents. It’s realistic, wild, powerful. It’sundoubtedly Medusa.
“She’s from Greek mythology,” he says softly. “A lot of people don’t know this, but she’s become a symbol for sexual assault survivors.”
I trace one of the elegant lines with my finger. Her eyes are defiant, unbroken. She’s beautiful and terrifying all at once.
“She’s phenomenal,” I whisper. “I love this so,somuch. Thank you.”
I lean over and press a gentle kiss to his lips.
Axel and Nik exchanged their gifts earlier, so after the emotional moment passes, we settle onto the bed to watch another Christmas movie. It’s perfect, being snuggled between two people who’ve become irreplaceable in such a short period of time. But something tugs at me.
When the movie’s well underway, I sit up and quietly excuse myself.
“I’ll be right back.”
I slip out into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind me. My heart thuds in my chest, and every step toward Johnny’s room feels heavier than the last. I don’twantto do this, but it’s the right thing. And it’s overdue.
I stop in front of his closed door and knock gently.
“Come in,” he calls.
When I push the door open, he’s sprawled across his bed with a book, but he immediately sits up the second he sees me.
“Lina,” he says, clearly surprised.
Honestly, I’m surprised I’m here, too.
His room is warmer than I expected. Posters of old movies and classic rock bands line the walls, and a massive bookshelf stands against one side, crammed full, with even more books stacked on top.
“I didn’t know you liked to read,” I murmur, walking in slowly. I trail my fingers along the spines of nonfiction on wars, horror, and even some high fantasy. His tastes are eclectic, and somehow, fitting.
“I do,” he answers.
The silence stretches thin between us.
“Anyways, Merry Christmas,” I say, stepping closer and pulling a small, wrapped box from where I’d hidden it in the folds of my skirt. I hold it out to him.
He stares at it for a beat, then takes it from me with tentative hands. He doesn’t open it right away. Just holds it in his lap like he can’t quite believe it’s real. And honestly, I get it. I can’t believe I got him a gift, either. After everything. God knows he probably doesn’t deserve it.
“Well, go on,” I encourage. “Open it.”
He gently peels back the wrapping paper to reveal a sleek black box. When he lifts the lid, his eyes widen and he lets out a low whistle.
