Something wasn't right. The panic in her expression seemed disproportionate, even considering what she'd been through. I studied her more carefully—the slight sheen of sweat on her forehead, the way her hands trembled.
"Are you feeling all right?" I asked, frowning.
"I'm fine." She stood too quickly, swaying on her feet. "Just...just need to get home."
I rose from my chair, reaching out to steady her. "You're not fine. Something's wrong."
"Nothing's wrong!" She pulled away from my touch. "I just need to go home, okay? I have...things I need to do."
"What things?" I pressed, my instincts screaming that she was hiding something. "Lottie, I'm trying to help you."
"I don't need your help!" Her voice rose, then broke on a sob. "I don't need you to fix my life. I don't need you to tell me how dangerous everything is. Don't you think I know that? Don't you think I'd change it if I could?"
I took a step back, giving her space. Her chest heaved with emotion, blinking back tears.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "You're right. I overstepped." I needed to back up. I couldn’t help her by bullying her.
She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "Can you please just take me home? Please?"
The desperation in her voice made my chest tighten. I wanted to argue, to make her see reason, but she clearly wasn't in a state to hear it. And I had no right to force my opinions on her, no matter how well-intentioned they were.
"All right," I said, recognizing the lost battle. "Let me get you some clean clothes first." I’d make sure someone was watching the building.
I found a smaller shirt of mine and some clean shorts that would go past her knees. I collected her torn dress on the bathroom floor, folded it as best I could despite the damage, and brought it to her along with her shoes. I turned my back while she changed, the rustle of fabric punctuated by her uneven breathing.
"Your shirt," she said quietly when she was done. "I should give it back."
"Keep it," I replied, not turning around until I heard her small sound of acknowledgment.
When I faced her again, my chest tightened. She'd refused the clothes and stuck to hers, looking even smaller in her ruined dress, the bruises stark against her pale skin. Her eyes had a glassy, distant quality that worried me.
The drive to her apartment was silent and tense. I kept glancing at her, noting the way she pressed her fingertips to her temples, how she seemed to be fighting to stay upright. Something was seriously wrong, but she'd made it clear my concern wasn't welcome.
When we pulled up outside her building, my jaw clenched. The place was even worse in daylight—crumbling brick, barred windows, trash scattered across the small patch of dead grass that passed for a yard. A group of men loitered on the corner, eyeing my SUV with undisguised interest.
"I'll walk you up," I said, already reaching for my door handle.
"No." Her voice was firm despite her obvious weakness. "I can manage from here."
"Lottie—"
"Please." She looked at me, her blue eyes pleading. "Just let me go."
Frustration burned in my chest, hot and unfamiliar. I wasn't used to feeling this helpless, this...dismissed. "At least let me see you to your door."
"I don't want you to see where I live," she whispered, shame coloring her words. "Please understand."
I didn't understand. Not at all. But I nodded stiffly, watching as she gathered her teddy bear and pressed it against her chest to hide the tear in her dress.
"Thank you," she said, her voice small. "For everything."
Then she was gone, hurrying up the cracked walkway with her head down, disappearing into the building without looking back. I sat there for several minutes, watching the entrance, half-expecting her to return.
She didn't.
With a muttered curse, I put the SUV in drive and pulled away, my knuckles white on the steering wheel. The image of her pale face, the bruises, the way her hands had trembled—it all haunted me as I drove. Something wasn't right, and I was leaving her alone to face it.
But what choice did I have? She'd made it clear she didn't want my help, didn't want me involved in her life. I had no claim on her, no right to force my protection on her.
