Because someone cared. Because it washim.
And even now—knowing what he might do—some part of her still ached for the man he had been. The one who had kept her safe, made her feel like she mattered.
She couldn’t silence that part of herself, even though she hated it.
The facade slipped. And she unravelled, far too tired to hold it in.
“I can’t—” The words tore from her, cracked and brittle. A breath. A sob. “Please . . .”
Tears blurred everything. Her hands shook as she curled inward, like she could fold herself into nothing. The words clawed their way up, burning raw, strangling her. “Make me forget.”
Damien stepped inside, closing the door gently behind him. “How?”
Her gaze drifted towards the bed.
In a second, he had crossed the room to sit beside her, reaching for her hand with careful intent. His fingers brushed hers, but she flinched.
Not violently. Not from fear. Just a sharp, instinctive recoil that came too fast to catch.
A groan slipped from her lips, low and strained . . . the sound of someone exhausted by her own reflexes, betrayed by her own body.
She withdrew her hand and pressed it into her lap, as if pinning it there might force it to behave.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured softly, her voice frayed and uneven. “I didn’t mean to. I just . . .”
She’d wanted the contact—needed it, even—but the damage ran deeper than thought, deeper than reason, lodged somewhere in the marrow of her being.
The last hand she’d held had taken her nails. The last grip on her arm had split her open. And her body remembered even when she wished it wouldn’t.
Damien didn’t speak right away. His eyes met hers, no judgment in them. “You don’t have to apologize,” he said gently. “We’ll go at your pace.”
She drew in his words through a breath, letting them settle over her, then she reached for his knee and squeezed firmly. “Touch me like this”—she pointed to her forearm, where Tyrina had taken her blood, and to her fingers, still aching from everything they’d endured—“but not here . . . or here.”
He nodded and scooted closer, eyes never leaving hers. He watched every flicker of emotion that crossed her face. Slowly, Damien reached out and rested a hand on her shoulder. His touch was steady and calm; it undid her. A quiet sob trembled through her, the grief hitting all at once, so hard she couldn’t hide it.
“Good?” he asked.
She nodded through her tears, nuzzling closer to him, seeking the shape of his comfort. He abided, his arms wrapping around her, threading underneath hers—careful to avoid the sensitive areas she’d pointed out. His grip was tight, holding her like he was afraid if he let go, she’d fall to pieces.
She buried her face in the crook of his neck, letting the sobs flow freely now. “It’s too much,” she choked. “So . . . so utterly broken.”
“What is?”
Her hand slammed to her heart, as she squeaked out the word. “Me.”
“Luna, no,” he whispered, resting his chin against her head, shaking it gently. “You’re going to be okay.”
But he didn’t know; how could he?
In soothing motions, he rubbed small circles on her back. The tenderness only made it worse, and she broke harder, her tears soaking through his shirt.
“I got you,” he murmured, as if he could keep such a promise. “Nothing bad is going to happen. Not while I’m here.”
Her breath hitched, and she pulled him closer, even as a small voice stirred in her mind:He can’t be trusted.
She silenced it. Not because it wasn’t true, but because she couldn’t afford to listen. Not when she needed this so badly.
“It was awful,” she whispered, her voice thin and shaking. “They were . . . ruthless. I couldn’t make them stop.”
