"I've been staring at you for months," he says. "You're just noticing now."
"I noticed before," I say. "I just didn't know it was you."
"And now that you do?"
I don't answer right away.
Because I don't know what to say.
I don't know how to explain that I'm furious and grateful and terrified and turned on
by the fact that he's been watching me all this time.
So, I don't.
I just finish the cigarette in silence and let him guide me back inside.
---
When I wake again, the room is quiet.
No beeping monitors.
No IV drip.
Just silence.
And Silas.
He's asleep in the reclining chair beside my bed, his head tilted slightly to one side, his arms crossed over his chest. He looks different like this. Softer. Vulnerable in a way I've never seen him.
The hard lines of his face are relaxed. His jaw isn't clenched. His breathing isslow and even.
He looks almost... peaceful.
I don't move.
I just watch him.
And as I do, my mind starts working through everything again.
The lilies on my porch.
The anonymous buyer who saved my shop.
The way he was there at the charity event, watching me from across the room.
The way he showed up for that tattoo session, letting me mark his skin with my art.
He's been watching me for *months. *
Following me.
Protecting me.
Never showing his face but always there.
It should bother me.
