“I should’ve told her,” I murmur to the empty room. Should’ve told her what she is to me. Told her that every laugh, every late-night gaming, every stupid meme we’ve shared has mattered more than I let on.
Eventually, I blindly reach out to place my phone screen-down onto my bedside table. With it, the last illusion of connection I thought we had withers. I lay there for a long while after, chest aching with everything I didn’t say and everything I might already be too late to claim.
Behind closed eyes, I see it all played back on replay. Her fist gripping Everest’s hoodie, the urgency in her body language, the way she leaned into him like she needed the contact to stay upright. Desperation overriding pride, logic succumbing to base need. It plays over and over until sleep finally bleeds in, just as heavy and unforgiving as the clench within my ribs.
I pass between real scenarios and those my mind conjures to torment me. Ones where Meg is in my room, in my bed, but not with me. That sleazy rich kid has his hands all over her, reeking of privilege. I try to move, determined to break them apart, except I hit an invisible wall. Slamming my fists on it, I yell and holler, but they can’t hear me. Looking around, encompassed by the darkness, I realize a beat too late that I’m trapped inside my computer. Imprisoned and being forced to watch Everest roll on top of her, his mouth dragging over her throat and lower. I jolt at the sound of aggressive buzzing. Too insistent to be the ceiling fan.
In the recesses of my mind, something registers. I fumble for my phone on instinct alone, fingers clumsily dragging it from the nightstand and answering without checking the screen.
“No, I don’t need to upgrade my broadband,” I ramble, until labored breathing on the other end clears the rest of my drowsiness. “Wait, Meg?” Her name is barely out of my mouth when something ragged, broken and wet meets my ear. Notwords. Just breath tearing in and out of her lungs like she’s drowning on dry land.
“Thi—Thiago,” she sobs, my name mangled around a hiccupping gasp. “I—I can’t—I can’t?—”
I’m upright in an instant, panic detonating through me so hard that my vision sparks. My free hand grabs for my desk as I bolt out of bed, my leather gaming chair screeching as it skids back. Moving the mouse in a rough shake, the screen flares to life, and there she is. Oh, thank God.
Meg is sitting bolt upright in bed, sheets tangled around her legs, oversized T-shirt twisted and damp with sweat. Her brunette hair is plastered to her cheeks and neck, curls wild and frizzed, eyes blown wide and glassy with terror. Her hands are fisted in the bedding like it’s the only thing tethering her to the present, knuckles white and shoulders hunched as if she’s bracing for a blow that never comes. She looks small, broken, and terrified in a way that makes something primal snarl inside me.
But at least she’s alone.
Relief hits so hard it almost buckles me, my knees locking as I drop into my chair, my heart trying to burst its way free of my chest. “Meg, hey. Hey, I’m here. It’s okay. I’ve got you,” I say quickly, my voice already fraying at the edges. Then, I remember I’m not supposed to have eyes on her in her private space. “Talk to me. What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
“No. No, I…I just, I thought,” she breaks off with a high-pitched cry, her breath hitching so violently I swear I feel it in my own throat. “I thought I was back there. I couldn’t move. I could smell it, Thi, I could smell him, I—” Her words collapse into sobbing again the sound so raw it’s like she’s being ripped wide open. Beyond her, I can make out the repetitive thump of bass passing through her walls. At least she doesn’t have to worry about eavesdropping.
“It was so real,” she whispers, voice shaking and gaze flicking around wildly. “I couldn’t wake up. I tried to scream and nothing came out and I thought…I thought I was never going to get out again.”
“Meg,” I command her attention gently. “I need you to breathe with me. Just for a second. Can you do that?”
“I—I don’t know,” she gasps. “I can’t—I feel like I’m going to?—”
“You’re not there,” I cut in quickly. “You’ve done this before. You’re stronger than this. Just focus on my voice, okay? Remember how the clinic taught you. In through your nose for three. Count with me.” I exaggerate my own breath, drawing it in deep even though my chest feels like it’s wrapped in wire. “One… two… three. Hold it. Now out. One… two… three… four…five.”
Meg tries to follow, her inhale stuttering, breaking halfway through, but she tries again as I continue counting. On the third round, her shoulders drop a fraction. On the fifth, her hands unclench from the sheets and curl into the hem of her shirt instead. It’s not much, but it’s something, and I cling to it like a lifeline.
“That’s it,” I whisper. “You’re doing it. Stay with me. Look around your room. Tell me five things you can see.” Her eyes flick around, unfocused at first.
“My… my lamp,” she says shakily. “The flowers. My backpack. The window. Your… your stupid sticker on my monitor.” Despite everything, a weak laugh cracks out of her, immediately dissolving into another sob. My throat tightens painfully. Fuck, I wish I was there with her.
“Good,” I lick my lips. “Perfect. Now, four things you can feel.”
“The sheets,” Meg plays along, allowing me to distract her. “They’re cold. The floor under my feet. My heart. It’s… It’sbeating too fast.” I watch her hand lift to press against her chest, and my head tips towards the screen.
“I know,” I tell her. “Mine too. I’m right there with you. Okay, now three things you can hear.” We go on like that, the panic slowly descending from Meg’s voice until she’s somewhat coherent.
She keeps apologizing, which nearly breaks me, keeps saying she didn’t mean to wake me, didn’t want to be a burden, didn’t know who else to call. Every time, I shut it down immediately.
“You call me. Every. Time. You hear me? I’m always here on the other end of the phone.”
“Okay,” Meg agrees. Eventually, she curls onto her side again, clutching the pillow to her chest, her eyes still glossy but no longer frantic. Exhaustion drags at her features, the adrenaline ebbing and leaving her wrung out. I watch her through the screen, afraid to blink in case she shatters again. “Can you stay on the line whilst I sleep?” I bite down on my fist, my chest aching so fiercely that it’s almost unbearable.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I reassure. She nods, a small, trusting motion that she doesn’t know I can see, and her eyes fall closed again. This time, her breathing evens out easily, slipping into a tired, fragile rhythm as she drifts back to sleep.
As promised, I don’t move. I don’t hang up. I sit there in the dim glow of my screen, phone pressed to my ear, watching over her like it’s the only thing I know how to do. I feel helpless in a hundred ways. Unable to hold her, to protect her, to take the nightmares away, but beneath all of that, something steadier takes root.
She called me. She calledme. When she was at her worst, when terror had its hands around her throat, I was who she reached out for. That means more to me than I can put into words. So I stay. I listen to her breathe. And I keep my promise.
Chapter Eighteen
It’s taken me two days to shake off that nightmare, the remnants clinging to my skin no matter how many times I try to scrub it off. In the stadium showers, might I add, because I’ve given up trying to access hot water in my own dorm block. The pipes wheeze and sputter like they’re on their last breath, offering lukewarm disappointment at best, but I don’t have the patience to wrestle with Reid for bathroom rights. That would mean having to face him, and putting all of my effort into avoiding his gray gaze in our classes to waste.
