He’s real.
He’s alive.
“Matt, you’re alive.”My voice is broken and pleading.“Is this real?Are you really here?”My fingers desperately trace the contours of his face.
A look of confusion mixed with dawning understanding washes over him.“Oh God, Amy,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.“Yes, it’s me.I’m okay.I’m right here.”He pulls me from the headboard and into his arms, crushing me against the solid, living warmth of his bare chest.“You’re safe, love,” he murmurs into my hair, his arms forming a protective cage.“I’ve got you.”
I cling to him, breathing him in.I try desperately to erase the image of his blood with the undeniable proof of his steady heartbeat against my ear.
He just holds me, his hand stroking my hair in a steady rhythm until the last of my tremors subside.
I feel his embrace loosen slightly, a reluctant shift as if to pull away.The thought of him leaving, of being left alone with the darkness, sends a fresh panic through me.
My arms tighten around him.“Don’t go,” I whisper against his chest.
He freezes.
I pull my head back just enough to look up at him, my eyes pleading.“Please,” I whisper.“Can you just… stay?At least until I fall asleep?”
His expression is one of such tenderness it makes my heart clench.
“Of course, love.”He doesn’t hesitate.
He presses a lingering kiss to my forehead before guiding me back down onto the pillows.He pulls the duvet up to my chin, then moves around the bed and slips under the covers behind me.He lies there for a moment, letting me feel the warmth and weight of his presence in the darkness.Then, his arm snakes around my waist.He gently pulls me back against his chest until my back is flush against the solid wall of his body.He tucks my head under his chin, his other hand coming to rest protectively on my arm.
Wrapped in his arms, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, I feel the last of the day’s horror release its grip.
I am safe.
I am not alone.
FIFTY SIX
FOR A BLISSFUL, hazy moment, my mind is blank, my body cocooned in the duvet’s warmth.I reach a hand behind me, expecting to find the solid presence of the man who held me through the night.
But all I find are empty, cool sheets.
I flip onto my back, my heart beginning a heavy beat.
I strain to listen.
The creak of a floorboard.
The distant rush of a shower.
But there is nothing.
Only a deep, hollow silence.
This unnerving quiet pulls me from the bed.I leave the bedroom and descend the stairs.Morning sun streams into the foyer, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, but the space feels cold and empty.My gaze sweeps to the front entrance.There, placed side by side, are my heels.The ones I left in a heap on the rug last night.Frowning, my eyes travel from my shoes to the security panel on the wall.A yellow sticky is attached to it.Four numbers are written in Matthew’s handwriting.The alarm code.
My heart sinks.
He’s not here.
My drive to the café is a smear of unnoticed details.
I give Helen a heavily edited, surface-level version of events.Just enough to put her worry to rest, but not nearly enough to touch on the gaping wound of my ensuing fight with Matthew.
