“I’m sorry,” I whispered into the dark, the words scraping out of me. “I’m so fucking sorry, Malaya.”
She softened against me, and I held her a little tighter. If the nightmares came back, I’d be here. If the morning came, I’d be ready—for the fear, and the wreckage I’d brought into her life.
I stayed awake long after she drifted off, watching her, counting her breaths until mine finally slowed.
When I opened my eyes again, the sun hadn’t yet risen.
Sleep never really came. I didn’t need it. I only needed to be awake when she opened her eyes—to be the first thing she saw, to make sure she knew she wasn’t alone. Not after last night. Not after the way she shook in my arms like the world was ending.
She stirred sometime after dawn, a small breath catching in her throat. Her lashes fluttered, slow and unsure.
“Maksym?” she whispered, her voice barely there.
I brushed her hair aside with my knuckles, my voice steady. “Yeah, it’s me.”
Her eyes met mine, soft and searching.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, keeping my voice gentle.
She hesitated. “I’m okay.”
I frowned. “Are you sure? You scared the hell out of me last night.”
She looked away, her features clouded with shame. “I’m sorry.”
“No,” I said immediately, the word too sharp. I shifted to face her fully. “Don’t apologize.”
She swallowed, the sheet clutched to her chest like a shield. “Something hit me last night. It was like déjà vu, but darker. I wasn’t here anymore. I was back there.”
“Where?” I asked, voice low, but steady.
“I…” Her bottom lip trembled.
I reached for her hand, slow and careful. “You don’t have to tell me.”
Her fingers curled tighter around mine. Then, with a quiet inhale, she sat up and shifted onto my lap, legs straddling me as I moved instinctively to meet her, chest to chest. One trembling hand brushed against my jaw, her eyes locked on mine with raw vulnerability. “I want to tell you,” she whispered. “I want to tell you everything.”
But then she shifted, and her gaze dropped to my left arm.
Her brows knit together. “What is that?” Her fingers hovered near the bandage wrapped high around my bicep. “Maksym… are you hurt?”
“It’s nothing,” I said immediately.
Her eyes snapped back to mine. “What do you mean it’s nothing?”
I gave a small, crooked smirk. “Just a disagreement with a very dead problem.”
She didn’t look convinced.
I brushed the concern away with a quiet shrug. “Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t matter.” My thumb moved along her jaw, grounding us both. “You do. Now tell me.”
After a long pause, she nodded to herself—like she was giving herself permission to finally speak.“When I was five, our house was attacked. My mom hid me in the closet and told me not to move. But from inside, I saw everything.”
I stopped breathing.
“I watched them hurt her,” she continued, her voice a thread. “They raped her. Mutilated her. I saw the blood. I heard her scream.”
My hands curled into fists without thinking.
