Page 78 of Trust

She nods.

I pour warm water over her hair. She closes her eyes as I gently work the thick liquid in, my fingers massaging her scalp. With each tender touch, she melts a little more. Her hair is silky and fragrant in my hands. I savor the texture, not rushing a thing.

As she starts to rise, I hold up a towel to give her some privacy. My gaze stays locked on hers. I don’t look anywhere else.

I gesture toward the stairs. “Want some food?”

She hesitates.

“I know you’re tired,” I say, voice light. “But Stix is cooking, and we both know we definitely want what he’s making.”

I offer a smile. She doesn’t return it.

“I don’t think I can... be normal right now,” she says, voice small.

“You don’t have to be normal. You don’t have to talk. Sit with us for a bit and eat?”

The little sigh she lets out makes me doubt I convinced her. It takes everything I have to resist the urge to lift her out of the tub, dry and dress her, and make her come to the kitchen with me. I decide on a compromise. “I’ll be right outside. You don’t have to go down alone, all right?” I say as I shut the door, not giving her the chance to say no.

She emerges from the bathroom a couple of minutes later with fresh clothes and damp hair. The pain is still with her. She’s still halfway under.

At least she’s not drowning alone.

TEMPERED

Chris

She slept in my bed. I didn’t just let it happen; I invited her. And she came.

This can’t last. She’s too young. None of this could ever work. And yet I can’t wait to have her in it again. It’s all I think about.

Did Cash do this? I bet he did. Planting a seed, so subtle it comes off as small talk. That’s the trick. Even if you know how manipulation works, you still fall for it. Now, I’m falling for her. What the hell is going on?

My insides tore apart when I saw how panic hit her. How fast her body locked up and her mind spiraled. The moment Cash grabbed her, she wasn’t here anymore. She was reliving everything I put her through: the van, the lake, the shed. This wasn’t only about preparing her for the world she’s going back to. Part of it was me trying to fix my mistakes. Teaching her to take control again, to hold steady when everything in her screams to run.

She needed to experience that struggle, to fight her way out, not just react. If she can control her breath, she can control her body. Control means survival.

That’s what I tell myself, anyway.

But when she walked off shaking, shoulders rigid, not looking back, I was no hero. I was the reason she had to learn it at all.

She enters the kitchen with her head down. A fragile edge still clings to her. It makes me want to step in and take the weight myself, but I won’t. I trust she can handle it now.

When I ask if she feels any better, her answer is little more than air.

Measured steps carry me across the room. I don’t touch her right away. Instead, I wait a second longer than is comfortable. Only then do I reach up, slip two fingers beneath her chin, and gently tilt her face toward mine.

She doesn't pull away. But she doesn't lean in either. Her eyes meet mine, dulled. That fire in her is smothered for now.

“No more hiding. Not from us, not from yourself,” I say. It’s not a warning. Just what needs to be said.

She doesn’t respond, stays unmoving.

The hoodie she’s wearing swallows her frame. It’s one of Cash’s, by the look of it. He must’ve given it to her after the bath. I’m sure he loves her wearing it. That’s fine. She needs him tonight. She might need me tomorrow.

We don’t keep score. We’re in this together.

When Sara and Cash take their seats at the table I leave them to eat. I already have and they deserve that space.