Noah’s hand covers mine, where it shakes against my sternum. His skin is warm, grounding, solid. But the storm inside me only howls louder.
It has to be me.
It has to be something I did.
“Gabe.” His voice is low and anchoring.
My tears blur everything. Everything feels wrong. The feeling of his hand against me feels wrong.
“You didn’t do anything to deserve it.” His thumb presses gently over my knuckles. “Nothing. His cruelty was his own. Not yours. You didn’t do anything wrong. You never could. You’re kind, sweet, thoughtful—he saw those things and twisted them. That was all him.”
I press trembling fingers to my scar, and thoughts sear me.Was I just something easy to break? Easy to manipulate and control. Am I just easy to hurt? Ihadto have done something wrong.
Noah’s wrong. There had to be another reason. Arealreason.
Darker thoughts come for me. “What if—” My voice is a broken thing, shaking so hard it barely comes out. “What if I do something? What if I say the wrong thing, and you—” My breath hitches painfully. “I don’t even know what I did before. What if I make you hate me, too?”
Noah presses his forehead further into the back of my head. His shaky breath skates over my neck.
“There isnothingyou could do to make me hate you,” he murmurs, voice fierce. “Not a word, not a mistake. Nothing. Just be Gabe. That’s all I want. All I’ll ever want.” He swallows, and I feel the tremor run through him.
A sob tears out of me, a hopeless cry, my whole body convulsing with it. Noah pulls me into him. He doesn’t speak again, just holds me through it.
Just be Gabe.
Doesn’t he realize? The Gabe he thinks he knows doesn’t exist anymore. He was taken, ripped apart, broken, and abused. The person who returned is just a shadow of that man.
Gabe is gone.
Sleep takes me at some point, mental exhaustion dragging me to a place fueled by my worst nightmares.
When I wake, the room is still dark. Noah’s arm around me feels suffocating. I get off the bed as quietly as I can. Noah’s face is slack with sleep, his chest rising and falling calmly. He looks so peaceful. Even in the fading moonlight, he looks golden.
I’m sorry I can’t be the person you deserve.
I want to reach out, smooth the hair from his forehead, and feel his skin under my palm. I want to tell him I love him, ask him to hold all my broken pieces together, ask him to never let me go. My fingers twitch with the need. I curl them into my chest instead.
Don’t touch him. Don’t stain him.
I dress silently. I just need to get out. Clear my head. Quiet my mind. Everything will be better then.
Everything will be okay once my mind is quiet.
42
GABE
The trail curves under my feet. I don’t even remember choosing this route. My legs just keep moving, lungs begging for air that doesn’t reach deep enough. My stride is off. My shoulders are tight, and my hands won’t unclench. I shake them out, shake out the ache in my forearms, but everything in me is still braced like I’m waiting to be hit.
Dew beads on the grass in little pearls that catch the light and glitter. Brambles line the edges of the path. Gravel turns under my sneakers, spitting stones up.
Breathe in, breathe out.
It doesn’t settle me. My anxiety is ratcheting up by the second. I push harder up the slight rise until there’s a stitch in my ribs, a hot tug at every breath. It’s fine. Pain is fine. Pain is good. Pain means I’m still here.
No one else will want you, you’re too soft. Too sensitive.
I grind my teeth so hard it hurts. I keep going. I count steps. Eight count inhale, eight count exhale. My shirt clings to my spine, and a trickle of sweat crawls down, disappearing into the waistband of my shorts. My skin smells hot—salt and cotton andthe faint ghost of lavender from the wash. I try to focus on that. Lavender, I love the smell; it calms me. It reminds me of home, of safety. But not today.
