“I am sorry. For everything.”
“We can talk another day. I think tonight, you should rest.”
Billie looked back at Debra with tears in her eyes as she lifted her hand and kissed the back of it. That one movement, those lips pressed to her skin, reminded Debra of the happier times she’d shared with this woman. “Thank you.”
Debra touched her cheek. “You’re safe here with me. I promise.”
“This is probably too much to ask, but…could I stay a while? I need to liven myself up before I walk home.”
“Stay the night. I have a spare room.”
“No, I couldn’t ask you to do that for me. I don’t deserve to be here and?—
Debra cut her off as she lifted a hand. “I offered, and quite frankly, I’d feel better knowing you’re here. I’ll only lie awake worrying all night.”
“Okay, well, could I use the bathroom, please?”
“Of course. You know where it is.”
The moment Billie slipped off into the bathroom, Debra brought her knees to her chest. Her thoughts spiralled, looping anxiously around the image of Billie on her knees, the flinch, the tears. The submission that hadn’t looked remotely sexual or even controlled.
No, it had looked conditioned…learned.
Her stomach roiled. What the hell had happened to her? What had been done to her? She didn’t want to guess or assume, but her mind filled the silence anyway.
Was it her ex?Did someone train her to kneel like that?Is this trauma or panic or both?Is this why she kept her distance? Why she shut down? Why she bolted the moment things became real?
She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. They had a lot of talking to do tomorrow, but for now, Debra would put her own feelings aside…and offer Billie whatever comfort she could.
“God, Billie…”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Billie woke slowly,dragged back into consciousness by the unfamiliar weight of a duvet and the faint, domestic sounds of a life already in motion somewhere beyond the door. She didn’t move for a few minutes. She lay perfectly still, staring at the pale ceiling above her, just listening. The kettle clicked off and cutlery shifted inside a drawer. Then she heard the radio playing low, and everything felt normal and safe.
And then it all came back.
Oh God.
She lifted her hand slowly and pressed it flat against her sternum, hoping she could physically hold herself together. She felt exposed in a way she hadn’t felt in what seemed like a lifetime. Last night hadn’t been messy passion or drunken regret. It had been something far worse.Regression.
She’d promised herself she would never do that again. That she would never let herself slip backwards into that instinctive obedience or the desperate need to appease. Gone were the days of apologising pre-emptively and making herself small enough to seem almost invisible…until last night when she’d done it anyway.
Debra.
The realisation twisted inside her. Debra had seen it. Not just the tears or the panic, but the shape of Billie when she was no longer in control of herself. The version she worked every day to keep buried.
Billie squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted so desperately to stay in this room and curl back under the covers, disappearing before Debra had to look at her again. Before the questions came. Before the judgement, the pity, or worse…the distance of someone who now understood too much.
But Debra deserved the truth.
If she was going to walk away—and Billie suspected she would—then she deserved to do it with clarity and honesty. She deserved to walk away with the knowledge that none of this had been her fault.
Billie pushed herself upright, but her body protested immediately. She was exhausted in a way that sleep couldn’t touch. Every muscle felt heavy, and every thought was dulled at the edges. She dressed slowly, choosing the clothes Debra had laid out for her without comment the night before. That kindness alone had made her throat well with emotion.
She paused at the bedroom door, her fingers hovering over the handle.
You can do this, she told herself.Just walk into the room. Just exist.
