The line dying hits me almost as hard as it seems to hit Clara. The phone slips from her fingers, landing beside us. “She…can’t do that, right? There’s…security here, isn’t there?”
“Sunset is practically a gated community, yes. Anyone entering must pass checkpoints and state their business, unless they have a pass that automatically scans in and out. You saw on Monday.”
“So shecan’tjust come here.”
“Correct.”
That information doesn’t settle her one bit. Tension continues to flow through every shattering inch of her. Which does not help her grip on my hair, or what that grip is doing tome when it is not the time at all for anything other than sincere support.
This is hermother. There are layers of feelings I will never get to unravel fully.
“Help,” she whispers, so broken, as her body destroys itself…
Something visceral ignites inside me, and it results in me plunging my fingers into her hair, pulling her head away from my shoulder, and laying an open-mouth kiss hard against her throat. “Say my name.”
“K—”
“Name.”
“Lukas,” she exhales.
“You are not alone.” I kiss, lick, nip. “You are mine. Big breath, sweetness.”
Her chest fills, tension racing away as a shudder rocks her.
“Am I gonna let anyone hurt you?Ever?” I growl.
“No,” she whispers. “But…inside hurts worse.”
I skim my nose up the column of her throat, tilt my mouth to kiss the underside of her jaw. “I’ll make that feel good, too. I’ll plant flowers in your soul and kisses on your heart. I will love you into ages unknown. You aresoprecious.Sostrong. So…kind.” I wet my lips, parched for her. “It’s gonna hurt. Dealing with people we love whosuckhurts.”
“Please don’t say that about my mother.”
I wince. “I’m sorry. I forgot myself.”
Tears skate down her round cheeks. “Why couldn’t she just begood?”
I fear that woman gave every drop of goodness to you, my love. My heartaches, and I shake my head. “I don’t know. You are so easy to be good to. People are messy fools. Complicated packages. Results of environments and choices. It’s hard to be good. It’s hard not to give in to every selfish urge. But when people don’t resist for us, it doesn’t mean we’re not worth theeffort. If you want me to bekind,” I grit, “maybe everyone’s just struggling in ways that don’t make sense to us, and sometimes it affects us.”
She manages to swallow. “But that’s no excuse to treat people like less than people.”
“Exactly.”
“Our situations shape us, but they don’t define us.”
I press a hard kiss to her forehead. “I’m so proud of you.”
“My journal is a trauma rainbow. It helps. A lot. Whenever I doubt myself, I skim through my trauma rainbow, and then I picture you looking at it and confirming that I’m not insane, that so much of what I’ve dealt with iswrong.”
I nuzzle. “You make even the darkest things beautiful. I’m sorry survival meant you had to see the best in everything, but I’m grateful, for my sake, that you do.”
Her grip in my hair eases, combs. “You are so much better than you give yourself credit for.”
I don’t know about that. I’m pretty proud.
Of her right now mostly…but still.
Instead of anything else, I softly say, “I love you,” as though her rejection of this one thing wouldn’t be enough to kill me. “I have for a little while now. But I’ve been afraid to tell you. I love you very…verymuch.” Pulling back, I dare to find her gaze. It’s as it always should be—fixed onme.
