“I’m here, Raven,” Matteo says.
When he reaches for me, I stumble backward. The sudden movement makes my foot slip on the wet floor, and I fall. But Matteo reaches me before I crash to the floor. His strong arms envelop me, lifting me up and holding me so my head rests against his chest.
My body shakes with the force of contained sobs that feel too big to release. If I start crying now, I might never stop.
The roaring in my ears could be the water or my own blood. I can’t tell anymore. I rock slightly, arms wrapped around Matteo’s neck.
“I’m safe,” I whisper, trying to convince myself. “I’m safe, I’m safe, I’m safe.”
“You’re safe,” he confirms as he presses a kiss to my forehead.
But the words are hollow, meaningless. Because I feel like I’m still in that room, still waiting for the next horror, still counting drips to keep myself sane.
“Say it with me, Raven.” Matteo’s deep voice somehow cuts through the chaos inside my head. “Repeat after me. I’m safe.”
“I’m s-safe,” I stammer.
“Nothing will ever happen to me again,” he continues.
“N-nothing will ever happen…” I try to finish the sentence, but all that comes out is a strangled sound somewhere between a gasp and a sob.
Matteo doesn’t wait for words. He moves with purpose, carrying me into the bedroom. When he’s placed me on the bed, he goes back to the bathroom. Through the open door, I watch him access a panel hidden behind a decorative piece of molding.
He pulls it open and twists something inside. The torrent from the broken pipe immediately slows to a trickle, then stops altogether.
“It worked,” I whisper. The sudden silence is almost as jarring as the noise was. All I can hear now is the harsh rasp of my own breathing and the soft splash of water as Matteo turns back toward me. “The drip stopped.”
I should have known this would be a group effort. Not me alone, not Matteo by himself. But together we stopped the motherfuckingdrip, drip, drip.
When he returns, he’s carrying some fluffy towels. Without hesitation, he sits beside me on the bed, one hand reaching out to gently tilt my chin up. I flinch at the touch—a reflex I hate myself for immediately.
Matteo doesn’t react to the flinch except to slow his movements, making each one deliberate and telegraphed. Hisfingers are warm against my ice-cold skin as they guide my face up until I’m looking at him.
His expression is something I’ve never seen before—the hard edges softened, the perpetual danger banked like embers in winter. “I’m here, Little Thief,” he whispers.
After removing the wet t-shirt from me, he wraps one towel around my shoulders, using the corners to dab at my wet face. The soft cloth against my skin feels impossibly good, the simple touch more grounding than anything else could be right now.
“I broke your shower,” I manage to say, my voice thin and tremulous.
“I don’t care about the shower.” His hand slides into my wet hair, cradling the back of my head. “I care about you.”
Something inside me cracks at those simple words—a hairline fracture in the dam I’ve built to hold back the tide of terror and grief. I’ve been so focused on being fine, on proving that I’m not broken by what happened, that I haven’t allowed myself to feel any of it.
“I was so scared,” I whisper, the confession painful in its inadequacy. How can those small words possibly encompass the horror of those hours that I know now was a little less than twenty-four hours?
But Matteo doesn’t need more words. He pulls me against his chest, his arms forming a protective cage around my body. “I know.”
“I thought I’d never see you again.” My voice breaks. “I thought he was going to kill me, and you’d never even know where to find my body.”
“I would have found you.” His voice is soft but absolute in its certainty. “I would have burned down the entire fucking world to find you.”
And that’s all it takes. The dam breaks, and everything I’ve been holding back for four days comes rushing out in a torrent more powerful than the water from the broken pipe.
Sobs tear from my throat, harsh and ugly and unstoppable. I clutch at his shoulders, fingers digging into his skin as if he might disappear if I don’t hold tight enough.
“I c-couldn’t do anything,” I gasp between sobs. “I was just… trapped there, watching Adam d-die, waiting for him to k-kill me too.”
Matteo’s arms tighten around me, one hand making slow, soothing circles on my back. He doesn’t offer empty reassurances or tell me it’s over now. He just holds me, solid and real and present, while I fall apart in a way I couldn’t allow myself to do in that basement.
