“I have a confession,” I began, unsure why I even felt the need to tell him this, but he would understand. I hoped.
“What?”
I took a breath.
“I have Blake’s journal, and I’ve been reading it. I shouldn’t do that, but I took it off the table in the cabin, and it’s driving me mad.” I pulled my hand away and wrapped my arms around my waist, feeling small and helpless suddenly.
He didn’t speak at first, only stared. It wasn’t until I stood up that he grabbed my waist and pulled me back down.
“Don’t leave, Amelia. Fuck. I can’t believe you would do that to yourself. Why are you just now telling me?”
I looked away, tears threatening to spill. “I’m ashamed. I don’t know why I just told you, but I need comfort fromsomebody who understands. I’m haunted every day by these shadows, it’s killing me.”
I hiccupped as I began to cry, not being able to hold back the stream of tears anymore.
His hand rubbed my back in a soothing way while he let me cry.
“I still don’t understand why you would take his journal. But, I can see you’re hurting, and I’m not going to give you shit for it if that’s what you think,” he whispered in my ear while he pulled me closer on the couch, his hands tightening their grip.
It was calming but also possessive in a hot way that made me want to jump his bones.
I can’t believe I was letting myself give in, but for tonight, I needed to.
“Thank you,” I told him, meaning it.
“Yeah.”
I could tell he was holding back, and I was grateful for it. I couldn’t handle that tonight, but his comfort was good enough.
He kept his arm around me, a hot, immovable band against my ribs, as if his body’s gravity could hold me together when everything else was splintering.
The sound of my own crying revolted me. I wanted to swallow it whole, crush it under my tongue, and spit out something mean, something brutal and dismissive. Instead, I let myself shudder.
His chest rose and fell under my cheek, and his breathing stayed even, the way it always did in the worst situations, like he’d stopped being a person and become some force of nature, relentless, inevitable.
I was a wounded animal, burrowing into the shadow of the predator who’d haunted my teenage years. The irony of it made me want to laugh, or bite him, or both.
I wiped my face on the sleeve of my shirt, but his hand was already there, rough thumb collecting what the tears left behind. I hated how gentle he could be, because that gentleness made me want things I wasn’t supposed to want.
I couldn’t help but think about a time he came across me crying, and how different it was to the Caiden who was soothing my distress now.
My mother almost overdosed.
I found her in the morning; she had been holed up in her bedroom all night with some guy.
I woke up to start my routine when the door to her room swung open, and a man stepped out. His strides across the hall were unsteady, and he held an unfocused look in his eyes.
“Is my mom still out?” I asked, crossing my arms, standing in his path. As a child, I used to fear these strange men. They were tall and intimidating and would stare down at me as if I were a piece of meat.
Now, I stood my ground, only seeing them as pathetic druggies.
“Sure.” He mumbled, pushing past me to leave. I let him.
I peeked into her room, she was sprawled across the bed, her eyes still closed. Something seemed off, though, and I stepped into the room that smelled of filth.
“Mom?” I asked, touching her arm, which was colder than usual.
“Shit,” I mumbled, poking her harder now, but her eyes stayed closed.
