He lowered his hand. His eyes searched her face, his expression uncharacteristically somber. He was shirtless. The injuries she had tended to were healing, but they somehow seemed to only enhance his appearance, complementing his smooth muscles and accentuating his six-pack.
“Same thing as last time?” he asked.
“It’s nothing,” she muttered, glancing away from him. It was embarrassing that she was even having them at all. She should be stronger than that. But she wasn’t. She was weak, just like Eric had always told her.
She didn’t want to admit that, not to Cillian. Heat rushed to her face, and she wished he would leave. She felt embarrassingly vulnerable, and she didn’t want him to see her like that.
Cillian’s hand went to her chin and gently tugged until she was staring up at him. “You don’t have to hide it or pretend that part of your life is behind you,” he said. “Trying to repress that sort of thing is only going to make you feel worse. Pretending it never happened is like running away without facing the problem. It’s going to come back and bite you at some point.”
I did run away, though, she thought. She swallowed, unsure what to say or how to say it. She hated feeling this weak. She hated that Eric had burrowed so deep into her that the instant she thought about him, she seemed to freeze.
As if he could read her thoughts, Cillian’s eyes narrowed. “You can’t let him run your life,” he growled. “The asshole’s not worth it.”
Her mouth parted, but words wouldn’t come. What was she supposed to say to that? “I’m fine,” she finally choked out, though even to her own ears, it wasn’t particularly convincing. She sighed, rubbing her face. “I’m fine.”
She heard a sigh. When she glanced up, she saw Cillian looking at her with more care and affection than she had ever seen from anyone.
“You don’t need to pretend you’re okay if you’re not,” he said. “Just because you aren’t okay doesn’t mean that you’re weak. You went through hell for years. No one would expect you to be fully okay after that.”
This time, she swallowed, then peered up at him. Some of the steel had returned to her voice, and she sucked in a deep breath.
“Like I said, I’m fine,” she said. And her voice was strong enough that she almost believed herself.
Unfortunately, Cillian didn’t. He gave her an exasperated look and brushed a strand of her hair from her face, the light touch sending shivers rippling through her.
“Pretending isn’t going to help you or anyone else,” he said.
She snorted. “And you would know about that?”
He raised an eyebrow, not glancing away from her. “I was in the military for years,” he said. “I’ve seen some horrible shit. I know a thing or two about pretending you’re okay, and I know what it’s like to fixate on things.”
“I’m not fixating,” she insisted, still aware she wasn’t convincing him or even herself. Of course, she was fixating. How could she not, when Eric kept plaguing her nightmares and when she couldn’t stop thinking about the way he had barged into her Airbnb and held her there before ultimately selling her?
“You are,” he said, though not unkindly. “And that’s okay. That asshole made your life hell. I don’t blame you for it. You just don’t need to berate yourself for it, you know.”
She didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure if she knew how to answer.
“That said, I’ve also learned that dwelling on bad things only makes it worse,” he continued when she remained silent.
She gave a bitter laugh. “Easier said than done,” she muttered.
He smirked. “No kidding,” he muttered. He shifted so he was perched on the edge of the bed. She tried not to think about how close he was. “It’s not an easy habit to break. I had to teach myself not to do it. Even now, there are some things I still fixate on.”
There was something in his tone that made her heart stutter. He stared intently at her, and he was so close. She didn’t have to ask what sort of things he fixated on. It was plain on his face. Her stomach clenched, her mind freezing temporarily before she was able to bring herself back to reality.
She considered Cillian. Maybe it was the dark, or maybe it was because she was still half-asleep, but something made her want to open up to him. Not want; that was too weak a word. Need.
“I hate this,” she said, and her voice broke. “I hate what he’s done to me. I thought I was over it. I really did. Instead, the second I see him, I just freeze. I’m instantly that scared little girl again that I thought I had left behind. What good am I if I crumple whenever I think about him?”
Cillian let out a low breath. “I’m no therapist,” he said. “But if you ask me, you never really addressed the real problem. You just shoved it into the closet and hoped you’d never have to deal with it again.”
“Only the closet’s opened, and it’s all spilling out,” she sighed.
Cillian barked out a laugh, deep and genuine and hearty. A smile spread across Amber’s face despite herself, and she started laughing, too, some of the tension ebbing from her shoulders. The night cast long shadows across the bed and both their faces, but she could still see the tenderness and concernon his features as their laughter subsided and his expression sobered slightly.
“I don’t know exactly what you’re going through,” he admitted. “But I know about having regrets, and I know what it’s like wanting to hide part of yourself from the world. But you have absolutely nothing to hide, Amber.”
“If I don’t have anything to hide, then why am I still ashamed?” she asked. “I ran like a coward. I never stood up to him. It was easier to run. Istillwant to run. What does that say about me?”
