I lift the bag a little, half teasing, half pleading. "You went shopping."
"Thank you." He ends the call without another word, pockets the phone, and crosses the room in three strides. His gaze darts to my exposed nipples, then down to the barely there panties.
My smile falters. "Is there something you had in mind when you brought these here?"
"No." The word is quiet. Final.
I blink. "No?"
"We're not going down any sexual path today." He says it plainly, no edge, no shame, just fact. "Not with toys. Not with anything. Not until we've done the harder work."
The hope in my chest collapses like wet paper. Heat floods my face in a violent eruption of embarrassment, rejection, and the sharp sting of being wrong again. "But you bought them. For me. Yesterday. Before?—"
"Before I found you bleeding on the floor!"
"I'm fine now!"
"Do you have any idea what you harming yourself does to me?" he says, voice loud and full of pain.
I jerk my head backward, eyes welling, lips trembling again. I clutch the bag tighter.
He takes the bag from me, sets it on the table, and then leads me to the couch. He sits and tugs me onto his lap, pushes my hair behind my ear, places a blanket over my shoulders, and gently says, "You're shaking."
Words jumble in my head, and I can't speak.
He cups my cheek, his voice turns vulnerable, and he states, "I don't want you to hurt yourself anymore, Bluebird. It's killing me. I love you, and it has to stop. So no, we're not engaging in sexual behavior today. And we're not starting therapy tomorrow. We're going to do it here. Right now."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Red
One Month Later
One month has passed since the hospital and Blue's blood mixed with shattered glass. The raw panic that gripped my chest when I found her still hasn't settled. That night carved new pathways through my nervous system with every quiet moment still carrying an echo of her small, broken sounds. But I keep the memories contained, locked behind routine, because schedules are what keep us both standing.
Sunlight slants through half-closed blinds, hitting my back. I wait, feeling jumpy.
Then Blue arrives, exactly on time, like she always does now. She knocks once.
"Come in," I say, the tug of my grin already forming.
She steps inside wearing a form-fitting tan sweater and dark jeans that hug her hips. A few strands escape the loose knot she threw her hair into, curling around her cheeks. She closes the door and crosses to the couch opposite me, softly offering, "Hi."
"Hi." My gut turns light and tight at the same time.
Silence settles for three heartbeats, then she says, "It's always strange to me not kissing you hello."
I nod. "I know. Me too."
We drew lines in the sand during Blue's first office session, and we keep our boundaries firm when at the office.
I ask, "How was the drive?"
"Quiet." She tucks one leg under her. "Traffic was fine. I listened to that playlist you sent."
"That's good." The playlist contains songs with calm instrumentals and the occasional acoustic track with lyrics about repair and morning light.
She takes a deep breath and waits, smiling softly.
