She looked so innocent lying there. So pure and untouched by the ugliness of the world. She looked like someone who had never harmed a soul, who had never known cruelty or manipulation. She looked like someone who would give everything and ask for nothing in return.
She looked ethereal in the moonlight. Like something not quite real. Like a dream that would vanish the moment I tried to touch it.
I found myself glancing up at the full moon, then back down at her face. The comparison was inevitable. People had written poems about the moon for centuries. They had compared it to beauty, to perfection, to the divine. But looking at her now, I knew with absolute certainty which one was more beautiful.
The moon was just a dead rock reflecting borrowed light. She was alive, breathing, real.
There was no contest.
My gaze drifted lower, to her lips. They were trembling. Just slightly, but enough to notice. The temperature had dropped significantly since sunset, and she was out here with nothing but thin cotton to protect her from the cold. Her skin had taken on a faint pallor, and I could see goosebumps rising on her exposed arms.
She was freezing.
Something tightened painfully in my chest. Something that felt uncomfortably like protectiveness.
I did not allow myself to analyze it. I simply acted.
I slipped one hand behind her head, cradling it gently, and brought my other hand beneath her knees. She was impossibly light as I lifted her into my arms. Lighter than she had been in the elevator. Lighter than she had any right to be. I could feelevery delicate bone, every soft curve. She fit against my chest as though she had been made to be held by me.
The thought should have alarmed me. Instead, it settled into my mind like something inevitable.
I carried her back inside, moving carefully so as not to wake her. The warmth of the room enveloped us immediately, a stark contrast to the cold balcony air. I walked over to the bed and laid her down on the mattress as gently as I could manage. She stirred slightly, a soft sound escaping her lips, but her eyes remained closed.
I reached for one of the pillows and began positioning it behind her head, adjusting it so she would be comfortable.
That was when her eyes opened.
They were wide and dark and filled with immediate, visceral fear. Her entire body went rigid beneath me, her hands coming up instinctively as though to push me away.
And I realized, with a jolt of awareness, exactly how this must look to her. I was leaning over her, one hand behind her head, my face mere inches from hers. I was practically on top of her, looming over her in the dim light of the bedroom.
I pulled back immediately, almost violently. I moved to the edge of the bed and sat there, putting as much distance between us as the mattress would allow.
She sat up slowly, her breathing quick and shallow. Her hands gripped the silk covers tightly, her knuckles going white with the force of it.
"I am sorry," I said, my voice coming out rougher than I intended. "I did not mean to frighten you."
She shook her head quickly, her hair falling forward to hide her face.
"It is okay. I just... I was confused for a moment. I did not know where I was."
The silence that followed was heavy and awkward, filled with all the things neither of us knew how to say.
"I was feeling claustrophobic," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes remained fixed on her hands, refusing to meet mine. "That is why I went to the balcony. I needed the open air. I did not realize I fell asleep out there."
I nodded, even though she was not looking at me.
"It is okay. You do not need to explain yourself to me."
She did not respond. She just sat there, her shoulders hunched inward, making herself as small as possible. She looked lost in the middle of my large bed, like a child who had wandered into a place she did not belong.
I was about to say something, anything to break the oppressive silence, when my gaze fell on her hand. Her left wrist, specifically.
There was a cut there. A thin, angry line of dried blood trailing down from her wrist toward her palm.
My eyes narrowed. Something cold and sharp twisted in my gut.
I reached out slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wanted to. When she did not move, I took her hand gently in mine and turned it over to examine the wound more closely. She flinched at the contact, but she did not withdraw.
