“Doctor,” he says, eyes never leaving mine, “at this moment, I trust no one.”
Even me, I think.
The doctor’s gaze flickers between us, sharp enough to cut. She seems to understand more than either of us says out loud.
“I’ll be in contact,” she says. “And she is not to be left alone.”
Her words hang in the room for a beat after she goes.
Then it is just the two of us again.
The silence feels different now. Heavier. Not with rage, exactly. With suspicion. With grief. With something so cold it makes me want to pull the blankets over my head and disappear beneath them.
My hand trembles as I reach for his.
“You don’t think I did this to myself, do you?”
For a second, he just looks down at my fingers on his skin. Then at my face.
He doesn’t answer. That is somehow worse than if he’d accused me outright.
Hot tears fill my eyes. “Lorenzo.”
Nothing.
My throat tightens until it hurts. “Why would anyone do something like this?”
“That,” he says, his voice rough and unreadable, “is what I’m wondering.”
He slips his hand from mine and stands. The loss of his warmth is immediate and cruel.
“Rest.”
Panic spikes so fast it leaves me breathless. “Please don’t leave me. Not like this.”
His face hardens.
“And how,” he asks, every word clipped, “would you like me to leave, Miss Miller?”
The name hits like a fist to the ribs.
Miss Miller.
Not cara.
Not Elizabeth.
Not anything soft.
Just the name he uses when he wants me to feel the distance. When he wants me to know I have disappointed him. When he wants to remind me that whatever fragile thing was flickering between us is dead now.
I could call him on it. Could spit back something vicious and watch us both bleed a little more. But suddenly I’m too scared for anger.
So I just whisper, “Go.”
And he does. He turns, walks to the door, and leaves without looking back. The latch clicks shut behind him with terrible finality. The room feels enormous after that.
I curl into myself, drawing my knees up carefully,wrapping both arms around them as if I can somehow fold around the pain and keep it from reaching the small, fragile life inside me.
