I shove my hands into my pockets.
“It’s not…” I start, before pausing.
What the hell am I going to say? It’s not that bad. It’s temporary. It builds character. It is what it is.
But something else comes out instead.
“What are you doing here, Bells?” I ask. “It’s after midnight.”
It happens automatically—the instinct to push first before I get pushed, to create space before someone can step too close and see something I don’t want exposed.
She flinches. It’s small, almost nothing, but I notice it—the way her shoulders tense. Then her face crumples.
“Everything is fucked,” she says, her voice breaking on the last word.
That is all it takes. The defensiveness dies immediately. I move toward her without thinking, closing the gap and pulling her into me before my brain can argue against it.
She presses against my chest. The sob that escapes her this time is raw and fierce. It gouges through her like claws. Her entire body trembles from it.
I wrap my arms around her and hold on tightly.
“Hey,” I murmur, my voice lower and rougher in a different way. “Talk to me.”
She tries. I sense her inhale sharply, struggling to find words through her sobs. Her forehead presses more firmly against me as if she’s bracing herself.
“I can’t,” she whispers. “I can’t sit in that house.”
I instinctively tighten my arms around her.
“You don’t have to,” I say.
She shakes her head against me.
“It’s just so... quiet. And I keep thinking that if my phone rings—” her voice cracks again. “If it rings, that’s it.”
I close my eyes briefly.
“He’s still the same?” I ask softly.
She nods once against my chest.
“And I keep thinking that one call,” she says, voice trembling, “one fucking call and everything I know is gone.” Her breath stutters hard. “I can’t be there waiting for that.”
I gently rest my chin on the top of her head.
“You’re not alone in this,” I tell her.
“I feel alone,” she admits. “I haven’t responded to Sam or Aubrey’s texts. I don’t even know how or what to say to them.”
Her confession weighs heavily between us.
“You don’t have to answer anyone tonight,” I say.
Her breathing starts to slow, just a little. Not steady yet, but more relaxed.
“I didn’t know where else to go,” she says, quieter this time.
I swallow hard, uncertain of what to say. I’m not built for this, but she’s here, and she came to me.
