Page 60 of The Sound of Him

His eyes narrow, eyebrows pulling together for a second.

Then his face softens with understanding. Everything about him softens, really. Not pretend this time. Not a game.

There’s a moment where we both just look at each other before he gently pulls himself out of my hold. He takes a single step back. I watch him part his lips, breathe, close them, part them again. The bottom one wobbles like before, but he doesn’t clamp down on it this time. He doesn’t try to hide it.

When he blinks up at me, fresh tears are falling down his cheeks.

“It’s real?” he whispers.

“Yes, Bryce.” I try for another smile. This one feels easier. More solid. “It won’t feel like it for a while, no matter how many times you try to tell yourself, but I promise you that it’s real. If you ever need me to remind you, come find me, okay? I’ll tell you over and over. I will tell you as many times as you need me to.”

He sniffles and looks away, his neck turned so that his longer hair falls across his face, hiding most of it from me. I still do him the courtesy of looking in the other direction.

“They won’t be hurt?” he asks after a moment, his voice cracking like he’s splitting right down the middle.

“They won’t be hurt,” I confirm. “Youwon’t be hurt. You’re all safe now. At least while you’re here - and you can stay as long as you want. We never close a safehouse until every survivor is ready.”

He runs a trembling hand over part of his hip. It’s likely where he has the knife he stole stashed away at the moment. I prepare myself for the possibility that he’ll take it out, but he seems to just want to remind himself it’s there.

He wipes at his face after.

“And it’s normal,” he begins, slowly turning to look at me again. There’s no sign of his tears apart from the damp lashes and slight red around his eyes. “To not believe it?”

“It is.”

He nods, slowly, then looks away again. His throat bobs like he’s working himself up to something but then he just nods once more and walks away.

I watch him, staring at his back that seems so strong and broad for such a slight frame - a hell of a lot of weight to carry on those shoulders of his.

He stops just a few feet away and turns back to me. “Even if this is real, even if - if you’re one of us… I’ll kill you. If you hurt him, in any way, I’ll kill you.”

I don’t have to ask who he’s referring to. I just nod.

He nods back.

Then he’s gone.

I go back inside my office, closing the door behind me. That was a disaster at first, but it worked out in the end. I might have even helped him. I’ve at least calmed him down from where he was at when he first knocked. All things considered, that was a success.

It was a success.

I kept it together.

But he thought I was one of them. One of the monsters. He thought I’d want him to be a good boy for me.

The walls aren’t closing in on me. That is not possible. Walls don’t do that.

This office has the same dimensions as it did before he showed up. It does. I know it does.

So why can I feel the closet wall on my back again? Why can I feel the edges of darkness crawling toward me? Why can’t I breathe?

I’ve crumbled. I’ve turned to dust. And now I’m choking on it.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t fucking breathe.

I’m running low on the pills in my desk.