He doesn’t say anything, and I’m grateful for it, but he keeps watching me, and I know it won’t last. Sooner or later, he’ll start asking questions.
I should leave.
I should get up and walk out that door right now.
But for some reason, I don’t.
And after a moment, I realise why.
I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts.
But I can’t keep doing this to him either. I need to stay away from him before he...
He turns on the television, and the sudden noise makes me flinch.
Again, he doesn’t comment on it, but I know he notices.
I keep my eyes on the screen, though I’m not really watching it. Nothing on it registers.
I’m not sure how much time passes, but at some point my eyelids grow heavy again, and I realise I should leave before I fall asleep on his sofa.
“You will tell me eventually,” he says, his voice pulling me from my thoughts. “Who did this to you.”
I can’t involve him in this.
I don’t deserve his protection.
I don’t deserve anything from him.
“I fell,” I say eventually.
“Rubbish,” he snaps before taking a deep breath.
Of course he doesn’t believe me. I never expected him to.
I get to my feet abruptly, and the blanket falls from my legs. I ignore the protest from my ribs and make for the door, refusing to slow down despite the pain.
Missing my tablets certainly hasn’t helped.
I touch the doorknob, but his hand covers mine, stopping me from turning it.
His heat at my back feelssafe, and so does his scent.
“Was it your father?”
I close my eyes and shake my head.
“Hunter...” My voice cracks. “Let it go.”
“You were home, right? Visiting?” he asks. “So was it your father or someone else? Do you need help? Just fucking tell me, and I’ll make sure whoever did it ends up dead for daring to put their hands on you.”
My heart all but breaks.
I blink, but a tear falls anyway, and thank God he’s behind me and can’t see it.
I don’t deserve this.
I am such a horrible person.
