“I’ve got you,” I rasp. “Always, little lamb.”
Somewhere behind me a shout becomes Marco. A grunt, Milo. Then Marco’s hand clamps my arm, hauling inch by inch.
Milo sprawls, belly to stone, reaching for her. “I’ve got her! Let go when I say?—”
“NO!”
“LET GO!”
Every instinct screams, but I release her with one hand and grab the edge with both. My grip slips, Marco snarls and drags me up.
Milo heaves Aoife over as I claw onto the rock beside them.
We collapse, soaked, shaking, wrecked.
I pull Aoife into me as rain knifes down. Her sobs beat my chest, and I fold over her, a shield against wind and sky and anything else that wants her.
I hold on like I might break her, like I might break without her. Her fists knot my shirt.
“Breathe,” I whisper into her hair. “You’re here.”
Thunder tears the clouds; we don’t move.
“I’ve got you, little lamb,” I murmur, kissing her temple. “I’ve fucking got you.”
I’m not letting you go.
The door slamsshut behind me as I carry her in, soaked and shivering, cradled like something fragile in my arms. She hasn’t said a word since the cliff.
Her silence screams loud enough.
I don’t let go of her as I head to the bathroom. My fingers won’t unclench from her body even if I tried. I turn the shower on, the hiss of the hot water slicing through the quiet.
She doesn’t protest. She doesn’t look at me. She just… stands there with the warm water hitting her skin.
So, I step in first, pulling her with me, letting the steam rise around us. I remove her clothes then remove my own.
The water is warm, but she’s shaking like it’s ice. I reach for the shampoo, lathering it in my palms before slowly, carefully massaging it into her hair. She doesn’t look at me, doesn’t speak, just lets me take over. Her head tips forward, her breath uneven. I rinse the suds from her hair, slowly. Not for pleasure. For comfort. For care. For her.
She’s raw. Broken. And I clean her like she’s something holy.
Then she falls.
Sobbing. Raw, animal sounds that crack open in my chest. I drop to my knees with her, wrapping my arms around her slick, trembling body and burying my face into her soaked hair.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper. “I’ve fucking got you.”
Her hands curl into my chest like she’s drowning and I’m the only air she’ll ever breathe. The water drums down around us, washing away the blood, the storm.
I stay there until her sobs dull into small hiccups, until her body begins to loosen just slightly in my arms.
Then, gently, I help her out.
I towel her off slowly, like I’m afraid she’ll break again if I move too fast. I slide my sweatshirt over her head, the sleeves falling past her wrists. I grab a pair of my shorts and help her step into them.
I put my own clothes on, and I pick her up again. She’s weightless again. Hollow.
Walking out I see my brothers, but I ignore them. I tuck her into my bed like she’s something sacred. She doesn’t fight it. She curls into the pillow, closes her eyes, and fades.
