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I forget how to breathe for a moment. He’s here, and I’m not alone. My lungs try to catch up but every breath comes out fast, as if I’m still running away. A tear slips down my cheek and I try to talk, to say I’m okay, just take me away. Please. Now.

The anger, the memories, the fear, it all blends into an immense ball of concrete that presses down my chest and not a sound comes out of my mouth.

He doesn’t hesitate. He leans in and kisses me. I breathe him in. I finally feel like I can breathe again. “That's it, breathe me in…” he whispers before kissing me again.

My breath stutters, then shifts, syncing with his. I clung to him, hands gripping his jacket like he’s the only solid thing left.

“You’re doing great,” he murmurs against my lips. “That’s it. Stay here. With me.”

I don't feel my body. I focus on him. His warmth. His hands on my back, anchoring me to this. “You’re okay,” he whispers. “You’re here. I’ve got you.”

“Take me away,” I finally say and all he does is nod.

He grabs my hand, pulling me toward the car and when I sit there, my eyes close and I can finally rest.

83

Miireya

Play - Paper Doll by Flower Face

A bad idea

His house is warm and quiet, as if the world isn’t a part of it. I sit on the couch with my knees pulled up, wrapped in a blanket that smells like detergent and him. The ocean keeps throwing itself against the cliff outside.

It sounds tired. I understand that.

Damien sits next to me, close enough that I feel the heat of him, but he doesn’t touch me. It’s strange how much I notice that. “You’re worried,” I say.

He doesn’t look away when he replies, “Should I be?”

I shift slightly, and my knee brushes his. He doesn’t move, his hand is on the cushion between us, open, waiting, like he’s trying not to ask for anything and I slide my fingers into his, and he closes his hand around mine immediately.

I need you. I need you even if we’re going to get hurt at the end.

“You shouldn’t,” I lied. His thumb moves slowly over my knuckles and I continue, “You’re not supposed to be this careful.”

He lets out a quiet breath. “You’re not supposed to need me to be.”

I lean my head against his shoulder. He stiffens for a second, then settles, his arm coming around me. His thumb is still brushing my hand, softly, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Then he says, “Run away with me.”

I freeze, my lips parting to reply but nothing comes out of it. I can’t love you without hurting. Some terrible, selfish part of me wants to know what it would feel like to say yes.

“You can’t say things like that…” I whisper.

His eyes flick to my mouth, then back to my eyes. “Why?”

“Because you know you can’t,” I reply, staring at him. Nothing makes sense apart from how he looks at me at that moment. Certainty and softness wrapped in the prettiest shade of blue.

“I can.”

I hate how he’s so confident about this. Because I disappear alone most of the time, whether in my head, in my nightmares, on the cliff, in substances. Disappearing is all I can do. I leave before people can leave me. Convincing myself that needing less means losing less.

But when it comes to him, I don’t know how to need him less.

“That’s not fair…” I murmur.

His eyebrows pull together and he asks, “What isn’t, Mireya?”