"It's Tawny," a voice calls through the wood. "I brought food."
I hesitate, then uncurl myself from the bed and pad barefoot to the door.
My hands shake as I turn the lock—everything makes me shake now, every sound, every shadow—but I manage to get it open.
Tawny stands in the hallway, a plate in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.
Behind her, Paige hovers with a small smile.
"You need to eat," Tawny says, pushing past me into the room without waiting for an invitation. "I know you probably don't feel like it, but trust me. Your body needs fuel."
I open my mouth to protest—my stomach is a knot of anxiety, the thought of food makes me nauseous—but she's already setting the plate on the dresser.
Scrambled eggs, toast, a few strips of bacon. Simple. Manageable.
"I'm not hungry," I say weakly.
"Didn't ask if you were hungry." Tawny turns to face me, hands on her hips.
Up close, I can see the sharpness in her eyes, the bleached blonde hair with dark roots showing, the hard line of her jaw.
She looks like a woman who's seen some shit. "Eat. Even if it's just a few bites."
Paige slips into the room behind her, closing the door softly.
She's the opposite of Tawny—soft where Tawny is sharp, quiet where Tawny is loud.
Her brown hair falls in gentle waves around a face that looks too kind for this world.
"How are you feeling?" Paige asks, and the genuine concern in her voice makes my throat tighten.
"I'm okay," I lie.
"Bullshit." Tawny snorts. "You look like you went ten rounds with a freight train. But that's fine. You don't have to pretend with us."
I don't know what to say to that.
I've been pretending for so long—pretending everything's fine, pretending the bruises are accidents, pretending I'm happy—that I don't know how to stop.
"Why are you being nice to me?" The question comes out before I can stop it.
Tawny and Paige exchange a look.
"Because we've seen that look before," Tawny says quietly. "The flinching. The apologies. The way you make yourself small, like you're trying to disappear." She shrugs, but there's nothing casual about it. "We know what it's like to be with men who hurt. Maybe not the same way, but... we know."
Paige nods. "You're not alone here, Ripley. Whatever you need, we've got you."
The kindness is almost worse than cruelty.
Cruelty I know how to handle.
I've built walls against cruelty, learned to absorb it without breaking.
But kindness—genuine, unconditional kindness—slips through the cracks in my armor and finds all the soft places I've tried to protect.
Tears spill down my cheeks before I can stop them.
"Hey, hey." Tawny crosses the room and pulls me into a hug. She smells like cheap perfume and cigarettes, and her arms are strong around me. "It's okay. Let it out. You're safe here."
