I nod quickly, tears spilling over.
He crosses the room in two quick steps. The mattress dips when he sits on the edge, close but not touching. “You’re okay, sweetheart. You’re just dreamin’. Look at me, baby.”
I force my gaze upward. His hair’s a mess, sticking up in every direction as his chest rises quickly. His hands are trembling too, but his steady, green eyes hold me there.
My voice cracks. “It felt real.”
He nods, his throat working. “I know. It’s gonna feel that way for a while.” His voice catches, softer now. “You’ve been through too damn much.”
I press my hand to my chest, trying to slow the pounding rhythm against my ribs. “I can’t—I keep seeing him. I can’t make him stop.”
He exhales shakily, running a hand through his hair. “I know, baby, but you’re safe here, I promise.”
I wipe my face, the words barely coming out. “What if he comes here? The letters, the ones I left, they had your address.”
He shifts a little closer, still giving me space. “He’d never make it past my property line, Layla. I’ll make sure of it.”
My lip trembles. “I don’t feel safe.”
His expression softens, and his voice becomes gentler. “Then I’ll stay right here until you do.”
I blink up at him, exhausted. “You don’t have to?—”
“Not leavin’ you like this,” he says firmly, shaking his head. He leans forward slightly, his elbows on his knees. “Not tonight.”
I take a shaky breath. “Can you just talk? Please?”
He nods, clearing his throat, his eyes glancing to the window before returning to me. “Well,” he murmurs, “you’ve successfully scared the shit outta me. Thought someone broke in.”
A faint laugh escapes me, more air than sound. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he says softly, his mouth twitching into the faintest smile. “I’m just glad you scream loud enough to wake the dead. Means I’ll always hear you.”
My lip curves, just barely.
He grunts, looking away for a second, his jaw flexing before his voice drops low again. “Layla… you’re safe now, you hear me? He ain’t ever touchin’ you again.”
I nod, but my shoulders tremble. “It doesn’t feel over.”
He swallows, his eyes shining in the dark. “I know.” He pauses, then softly asks, “Can I—?” He makes a faint gesture toward me.
My voice cracks. “Yeah.”
He moves slowly, carefully, sitting beside me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders, it’s light, tentative, giving me space to pull away if I want to.
I don’t as I lean in, pressing my forehead to his chest, the soft cotton of his shirt damp beneath my cheek from tears.
His hand gently circles against my arm. “Breathe with me, sunshine,” he says, taking in a breath of his own, coaching me. “In and out. That’s it. You’re here. Not there.”
My breath finally evens out against him, and my body feels heavy with exhaustion.
“You did good gettin’ out,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. “You’re stronger than you think.”
“Doesn’t feel like it,” I whisper.
He doesn’t respond as he presses me tighter against his chest.
Silence falls around us; just our breathing, filling up the space.
