“That’s it,” I whisper. “Good girl. You’re doing so good.”
Her sobs soften into quiet, broken cries, her face pressed into my throat. I rub slow circles into her back, big and steady, the same motion over and over until her body starts to remember the present.
“I know,” I murmur when a fresh wave hits her. “I know what day it is. I should’ve been here sooner. I shouldn’t have left you. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
Guilt coils tight in my chest. I should have remembered. Should have planned better. Should have never left her alone on this day. She’s dealt with this on her own for five years. Every single day battling the demons in her head. And it breaks my damn heart.
The brain makes you feel things that you’re trying to bury. It doesn’t let you escape. It’s not about strength. This doesn’t make you weak. It’s trying to simply survive the only way it knows how.
I fight back the emotions rising in me. The rage. The fury. The sadness that this is her reality, and I can’t dive into her head and make it stop.
All I can do is be here with her. But right now, all that matters is keeping her here. With me.
“You’re going to be okay,” I repeat. “This pain isn’t forever. It’s loud today, that’s all. Tomorrow it will be quieter. And the next day quieter still.”
She whimpers my name, barely audible.
“I’ve got you,” I say immediately. “I’ve always got you.”
I kiss the top of her head, then her temple, then just hold her there under the water, fully dressed, fully soaked, fully committed.
I’m not letting go. Not when she’s like this. Not when she’s hurting. Not ever again.
She doesn’t fight these ghosts alone anymore.
I stay there with her until her breathing slows, until her grip loosens just enough to tell me she’s still here.
And even then, I don’t let go.
She’s stuck with me forever.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
Lily
Song- Iris, Tommee Profitt, Ruelle
The panic doesn’t disappear all at once. It loosens its grip slowly, like fingers uncurling one by one.
My breaths come easier, no longer sharp and tearing at my lungs. The shaking fades to a tremor, then melts into exhaustion so deep it feels like it’s stitched into my bones. I’m aware of warmth first.
Drago. Wrapped around me like he’s anchoring me to the world.
I don’t know how long we stay like that. Time stops making sense when you’ve been drowning, and someone finally pulls you back to the surface and refuses to let you sink again. He keeps murmuring to me. “I’ve got you.” He tells me as he helps me stand on weak legs.
The water clicks off. He lifts me without effort, wraps a towel around me before the cold can even think about touchingmy skin. I’m hazy. Drained. Embarrassment hums somewhere distant, waiting for its turn.
This is why I never let anyone in to see me like this. It’s humiliating. I can’t even take care of myself without falling to pieces. It’s always there, waiting to kill me from the inside. Like there's a threat waiting around every damn corner for me.
He sits me on the edge of the tub and dries me carefully, patiently, as if I might fracture if he rushes. There’s no discomfort in him. No hesitation. Just quiet certainty.
Then he reaches for another towel and drags it over his own head, scrubbing water from his hair, his face, his neck. His clothes are soaked through, clinging to him, and I watch through blurred vision as he peels them off without a word.
He pulls on soft grey sweats and a worn black T-shirt that he keeps in my drawer, then he helps me into clean clothes. His hands are warm and steady, even when mine aren’t. When I catch my reflection in the mirror, red eyes, blotchy skin, hair limp and tangled. I flinch.
“Hey,” he murmurs, stepping in close, tilting my chin up. “You’re beautiful, Lily. Look at me.”
I do. And somehow, that’s easier.
