For the first time in my life, I woke up not to the drone of my mother’s rage or the sulfur stink of pills, but to the slow, steady rhythm of someone else’s breathing.
It was so startlingly gentle I almost panicked; my chest seized, all the old alarms blaring to life, and for a second I considered biting him, or running, or just screaming until the house shook.
But the warmth of Dante’s palm soaked into me, and I pressed my lips together, trying not to make a sound.
It felt good, too good, in a way that terrified me.
Like if I let it in, even for a second, I would need it forever. I’d be ruined.
His chin nuzzled my shoulder. The heat of him, the way his knees hooked the back of mine, the gentle flex of hisfingers at my hip, every bit of contact was a reminder that some people could want you without trying to break you.
I wanted to let it happen. To be touched and not torn. But even in dreams, the coil of panic lived at the base of my skull, waiting for a reason to strike.
I lay as still as I could, counting the seconds between his breaths, then the seconds between mine. I lost track, let the numbers unravel, and drifted back to a muted sleep.
This time I dreamed of nothing at all.
When I woke again, it was morning, and the daylight was leaking around the edges of the little window well, painting the cement floor with a weak, gray light.
I shifted, and Dante stirred behind me, groaning and stretching. I tried to squirm free, but his grip only tightened, dragging me closer.
I glanced at the clock and realized it was nine in the morning.
Thankfully, it was Saturday, so no school.
Yet, I had the urgency to leave.
I squirmed away from the warmth of Dante’s body, my movements quick, almost frantic. I could feel the static of his skin linger on mine, a phantom touch that made my teeth clench.
Affection wasn’t something that I was used to. It was foreign and cold. An immense sense of panic overcame me. I thought about the neglect of my mother. The abandonment of my father. How nothing is safe, and everybody leaves.
Leave them so they can’t disappoint you.
Disentangling myself from the couch, I stood, arms folded, shivering in the clammy basement air.
My heart thudded in my chest, a warning drum:Don’t get used to this. Don’t you dare.
Dante blinked awake, confusion fogging his features. “Hey,” he rasped, voice thick with sleep, “where are you going?”
“I can’t stay here,” I said, the words rushed and jumbled. “I just—” I searched for something true, something that wouldn’t make me sound weak. “I need to breathe.”
He sat up, rubbing his eyes. For a long moment, he was silent, watching me with a gaze that tried to pin me down. “You can tell me what’s wrong, you know.”
His tone was gentle, but there was an edge of desperation that made me want to run.
I shook my head, hugging myself tighter. “I can’t… I just can’t.” My voice crumpled at the end, and I hated myself for it. “I’m gonna go home.”
Dante stood, hands outstretched but not quite touching me. “You don’t have to. You can stay as long as you want, Amelia. Nobody’s gonna make you?—”
“Please,” I whispered, voice raw. “Don’t.”
He stopped, shoulders dropping.
For the first time, I saw hurt flicker across his face, but it slipped away as soon as it came.
Dante’s arms hung at his sides, all soft threat and apology. He looked so much like a kicked dog I almost laughed, but my lungs were full of splinters. I left before he could say goodbye.
Dante didn’t follow. I knew he wouldn’t. He was good like that. He knew when to back off, when to let my spiral run its course.
