"No, you stop with this 'I don't need anyone' bullshit," I say, not letting her grab the weapon. "Nobody navigates life alone. You think you're special? You're not. You're human. You need people, and whether you want to admit it or not, you need to trust."
Her lip trembles and a flash of something raw crosses her face, gone so quickly I almost miss it.
"Some of us don't get that," she says. "Some people aren't lucky enough to make it out with anyone left."
I hold her gaze as I tuck her gun in my waistband. I then walk past her into the apartment, deliberately turning my back on her. I shrug off my jacket, dropping it on a chair, and drop down onto her couch.
"What are you doing?" Her voice rises slightly.
"Camping out," I say, stretching my arms across the back of the couch. "I'm not leaving until I know what the hell is going on with my nurse. So, you've got three options. Talk. Sleep. Or ignore me."
The silence stretches between us and she just stands there, almost confused.
Then, finally, she shuts the door and looks at me.
"Fine. Sleep on the couch. I don't care."
I kick off my boots and stretch out, owning the space like it's mine. "Thanks, Nurse. Your hospitality's real warm and fuzzy."
She walks into the kitchen.
I hear water running. A glass hitting the counter.
Minutes pass.
She turns and comes back, silent. Not looking at me.
"Don't worry. I'm comfy," I say, voice deliberately casual. "Take your time."
She stops but doesn't look back.
"I'm not leaving," I say again, just to drive the point home.
"I know."
She walks to her bedroom and shuts the door. A few seconds later I hear the shower turn on.
I tilt my head back and stare at the ceiling, which looks like it might cave in on us at any moment.
She came back. That should be enough.
But it's not.
Because now that I've seen her eyes, her hands, the way her voice cracked, I know something's coming for her.
And I swear to God, it'll have to go through me first.
18
LYRA
My mind won't shut off. Sleep refuses to come. I've rolled onto my side, onto my back, even my stomach. Nothing works.
I toss again, the sheets tangling around my legs. I look at my phone: 2:37 AM.
It's all because I feel like I can hear him breathing from the living room.
Who the hell does he think he is, just deciding to stay like that? Breaking into my space, taking my gun, making himself at home on my couch like I invited him.
