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“Stop!” I mouth. I set my phone under the pillow and stare up at the ceiling, frustration building in my chest. This is exactly why I didn’t tell him.
“I’m sorry.” He leans up on his elbow. “I just don’t get it.”
“Get what?” I sign.
After shifting my hair away from my eyes, he says, his voice barely audible, “You’re my girl, Becs. Why won’t you let me take care of you?”
His words hang in the air, more like a statement than a question, and I let them repeat in my mind, over and over, until I come up with an answer that’s both satisfying and true. I grab my phone and wait for his eyes to switch from mine to my hands before typing, You being here, being on the other end of the phone, that’s you taking care of me. I don’t want or need anything else. But if it ever comes to that, and it might, I promise I’ll ask you. I don’t want your money to define our relationship. I don’t want to be the poor college student depending on her rich boyfriend. I just want you, Josh. All I’ve ever wanted is to love you, and for you to love me, and that’s it. That can’t be enough?
His defeated eyes move to mine, before his head lowers, his mouth soft and safe as he brushes across my lips. “Promise you’ll ask if you need it.”
“Promise,” I mouth, and switch the app on my phone to have Cordy say, “Now let’s get some sleep. We have a big day tomorrow. I’m skipping group therapy and taking you to Say Something. We have a huge charity shave, and then I want to have your mom and Tommy here for a late lunch before you and I go out for dinner and drinks with some people from my paper. I’m going to show you off to everyone, and you better be on your best behavior, Warden.”
He laughs, his head dipping, causing strands of his hair to brush against my chest. “So we should probably get all the naughty stuff out of the way now, right?”
“How naughty are you thinking?”
“How thin are these walls?”
30
—Joshua—
I jerk awake with Becca’s arms thrashing wildly, hitting me from all angles. I try to grasp her hands but it’s too dark, and before I can switch on a light, before I can think, it all stops. I wait for her next move, not wanting to spook her in case it sets something off. She sits up quickly, her feet landing on the floor with a thud, and reaches for her phone. I try to settle the pounding in my chest while I rub my eyes, adjusting to the dark.
Her door rattles, catching my attention, but it doesn’t open.
“Unlock the door, sweetheart,” Martin says. His voice seems calm—too calm. But Becca doesn’t move.
I get up quickly, unlock and open the door for him, not knowing what else to do.
He doesn’t acknowledge me, just goes straight to her and squats down to her level, taking her hands in his. I assume she alerted him, that’s why she reached for her phone, and I wonder how often this happens. Because it seems too routine.
My heart breaks at the sight of her, and at the silence that surrounds us. “It was a bad one, huh?” Martin says.
Becca nods, her shoulders shaking with her sob and why the fuck am I just standing here?
“You need to breathe, Becca. Deep breaths,” he soothes.
It should be me. Why didn’t she turn to me?
Martin eyes me quickly before refocusing on Becca. “Remember what Dawn said—that the nightmares appear when you find yourself truly happy. Think of what’s making you happy, Becca.”
Becca nods again while wiping her eyes across her forearm. Martin catches my stare and motions for me to join him. It takes a moment for me to come to, for the shock and semi-disappointment to dissipate.
I put one foot in front of the other and hope that my presence isn’t the cause of her misery.
“Josh is here,” Martin says, patting her hands. “Do you remember that?”
Becca blinks.
Once.
Twice.
Then she looks up at me. Moments pass. Moments of heartache. Eventually, she smiles, and I feel the air in my lungs for the first time since she woke. She takes my hand and places my palm on her cheek, letting it soak in her tears. She looks so young, so dejected. I wait for her to say something. Anything. Because in the haze of everything that’s happening, I forgot for a second—just one—that she can’t say anything. But she moves… back into bed, scooting to one side, making room for me to lie with her. Without hesitation, she nestles into the crook of my arm, her hand on my chest, her legs tangled with mine.
Martin nods at me as he moves to the door where he stills, one hand on the knob, the other rubbing his nape. I can see the battle in his eyes, unable to decide whether to close the door and give us some privacy, or leave it open so he has peace of mind.
