I refused.
I wouldn’t cry in front of those cameras. I wouldn’t give the show anything more than they’d already stolen from me.
I made it through the lobby on pure momentum and into the elevators. Before the doors could slide shut, Eric slipped in. I’d been too caught up in my drama to notice that he had followed me.
He gripped the back of my neck in a hard, anchoring hold, his thumb digging into the tense muscles there. “I’ve got you,” he murmured.
And that was it.
As soon as the elevator doors slid shut and the cameras vanished, my composure collapsed completely. My chest caved in on itself, a soundless sob ripped free as tears poured down my cheeks. My shoulders shook violently as my knees threatened to give out, and Eric tightened his hold, bracing my weight with his body, making sure I didn’t fall.
I cried hard. Ugly, broken, gasping tears. But Eric didn’t rush me. He didn’t tell me to calm down. He just stayed beside me, murmuring soft reassurances in my ear. He told me I could scream, cry, throw shit, or burn the whole world down if I needed to. There were no cameras. No expectations.
Just me falling apart and Eric holding my pieces together.
He told me it was okay to hate my mom right now. That it was okay to be furious at Aksel. That what they did was fucked up, full stop, and I had every right to be angry. He reminded me, gently but firmly, that feelings don’t always have to make sense to be valid. That I could love them and still be pissed. That forgiveness didn’t have to be immediate orautomatic.
“I’m here,” he said, over and over. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He brought me back to his room, one hand still at my neck, while he continued whispering reassurances the whole way. Every time my thoughts began to spiral into that familiar pit where depression waits, he pulled me back.
It’s moments like this that I keep in mind when Eric pisses me off.
Moments where he showed up when no one else did. Birthdays. Holidays. Big milestones that should’ve been crowded but ended up being just us. Moments where it really was us against the world, and somehow that was enough.
I appreciate his friendship more than he’ll ever know. And I’ll probably never tell him that outright, because he’d cry dramatically and make it weird.
The present drags me back when I hear the shower shut off, followed by the sink running. Eric gags loudly as he brushes his tongue, making retching noises that could be heard in space.
Yup. Still Eric.
Afewaggressiveclankslater,andeverythinggoes quiet.
Then the pillow is ripped off my face.
IsquawkinprotestasEricloomsovermewitha maniacalgrin.“Wakey,wakey,”hegrowlsinademonic voice.
“No, thank you,” I reply primly, grabbing another pillow and attempting to smother myself again.
He snatches that one away, too, and hurls both pillows across the room.
“I’ve let you wallow in your pool of self-pity long enough, babes,” he announces, flicking nonexistent hair over his shoulder as he straightens. “It’s time to get on with your life.”
Before I can protest, he yanks the curtains open.
I hiss like a vampire as sunlight scorches my retinas.
Fantastic. I’m blind now. Exactly what I needed today.
“It’s been less than twenty-four hours,” I snap, glaring at him, “since I found outon camerathat my mom is alive, sober, and hanging out with my fucking in-laws. Oh! And my husband, who I used to hate, then kind of fell in love with, and now hate again, knew about it the whole godsdamned time. I think I deserve a teeny bit more time to wallow.”
Eric freezes, genuinely considering that. He taps a finger against his chin, squinting in thought. “Had it really been less than twenty-four hours?”
“Yes.”
“Huh.” He shrugs. “Oh well. No time like the present.”
“Eric, I’m not ready to be around people. Hell, I’m not even ready to put on pants,” I whine, my voice muffled as I half-bury my face in the mattress. “Please do not make me do things today.”
