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Her shoulders shake, and she appears to be struggling to breathe as she tries in vain not to break out into full-blown sobs. “No, I can’t. That’s really sweet of you. But I don’t want to be a burden.”
It’s not just a polite refusal. She says it like she means it. I get the feeling she’s been made to feel like a burden more than once, and the thought twists my stomach.
“You’re not,” I huff with exasperation, running a hand through my hair. I’m not awake enough to give her some kind of life-altering pep talk right now. I just don’t want to see her sleeping in the hallway or getting shoved around if the guy comes back. “You’re a neighbor in trouble. I’m offering to help. Don’t make it weird.”
There’s a second where it looks like she might fall apart completely, but she pulls it together with a deep breath and a shake of her head. I’m relieved. I don’t want to be caught standing in the hallway with a sobbing girl. I’m well aware of the way it could look, and that’s the last thing I want.
“Come on. You’ve got to be just as tired as I am. There’s no reason for either of us to be up right now.” I nod toward my door, waiting for her to step away from the wall. It reminds me of trying to coax a stray dog to food. When she finally follows me, it feels like a massive victory. “Besides, we both work nights. You don’t have to worry about me being awake while you’re passed out or anything weird like that.”
“I wasn’t.” She grimaces, before shifting into a nervous laugh. “But thanks for putting that into my head.”
I can’t help but laugh, too. It wasn’t the smartest thing to say. Nothing out of my mouth before going to sleep ever is. When I flick on the light by the door, she gasps. At first, I’m terrified I’ve left something embarrassing out or my lifestyle is far messier than I thought it was.
“I didn’t know anybody was coming. I would’ve cleaned up—”
“No!” She cuts me off with another laugh, much sweeter this time. It reaches down inside me and finds the roughest place, softening it just a bit. I don’t like how much I like that sound or how much I want to make it happen again. I meet her vulnerable gaze, and I fall into twin pools of chocolate, not daring to blink this moment away. This feeling is almost… normal. “It’s not like that at all. Your place is so much bigger than mine!”
“Oh, yeah. You’ve got that weird studio they jammed in between me and the corner unit. You know, I know the guy who does the plumbing here. I think your place was actually a bedroom attached to this one before they converted it. Linda said the other day that it was part of a storage closet once.”
I realize I’m rambling as I walk to the bathroom. There’s no way she cares about the structure of the building. And who wants to be told their apartment used to be a maintenance closet? I don’t even know why I came into the bathroom. It’s not like I have an extra toothbrush. There’s a clean washcloth and a bar of plain soap I haven’t opened yet. I can’t imagine she doesn’t feel gross from her shift, and even if it’s not the right thing, I’m sure she’ll appreciate the gesture just the same. Every woman I’ve ever known is very insistent on washing their face before they go to sleep. I grab both before heading to my bedroom and collecting the nicest-looking sweatpants and t-shirt I own. She’s still in her work clothes and probably wants to change out of those, too.
She’s so vulnerable right now, even though I know she’s trying so hard to keep it together. Something about her makes me want to anticipate her every need.
When I come back to the living room, I find her curled up awkwardly on the couch, clutching a throw pillow to her chest with an arm folded under her head. It can’t possibly be comfortable.
I stutter to a stop. “You know, I just put clean sheets on the bed.”
She raises her eyebrows at the offer, and I realize how it must have sounded.
My hand creates a stop sign. “No! Not like that. Damn. I meant you sleep in the bed, and I sleep out here. I don’t feel like much of a gentleman forcing you to sleep on that old thing. It’s not right.”
Gentleman? Seriously, Langmore. When have you ever been even close to that?
But I want to be. I want to be that for her.
“It’s fine, really,” she laughs again. I have to consciously focus on not smiling in response. She makes me feel a certain kind of way that’s foreign to me. Protective maybe. My mind keeps taking snapshots of her grateful expression to look at later when I’m alone. “I called a locksmith and didn’t get any answer, so I called the property manager and left a message. Somebody will get back to me when they wake up. If I’m out here, then I can just sneak out and go get it handled without waking you up.”
While she talks, she can’t seem to take her eyes off the door. Like she’s looking through it, clean into the hallway, staring at where he was standing. Fear radiates from her, and I can feel it shedding off of her body. I want to sink down beside her and draw her into my arms until her breathing steadies. I want to tuck that wisp of hair behind her ear and outline the shape of her jaw with my thumb.
“You’re safe.” I nod toward the door and the locked deadbolt. “He can’t hurt you here.”
“I know, but what would’ve happened if you weren’t here?” There’s a haunted look in her eyes that I can’t blame on simple post-work exhaustion. I know from experience that she’s replaying it in her head, over and over. I need to talk her out of it or she’s going to have nightmares the whole rest of the day.
“One of the other neighbors would’ve helped.” I place the clothes and the soap on the coffee table, letting her decide if she wants them or not. I don’t want to push her too hard in any direction right now. She seems fragile. Which is why I lie to make her feel better. “You’d still be fine.”
She stills, and I can see her tiny inhales. “I don’t know. In my experience, no one wants to get involved.”
I can’t count how many times someone could’ve intervened for us over the years and chose not to. Tonight, I almost didn’t get involved myself. I mumble some half-formed thought about heading off to bed, not sure what to do with myself at this point, and make it all the way to my alarm clock before it hits me.
I poke my head out toward the living room and see the outline of her socks on the arm of the couch. “Hey, uh. We were pretty busy at work tonight, and I never got the chance to introduce myself. It feels kinda weird to have talked this much and have you sleeping on my couch here without knowing your name. I’m Weston.”
“Pleased to meet you, Weston,” she yawns. “I’m Elowyn.”
Her name is as beautiful as she is. I find myself repeating the three syllables under my breath until I fall asleep.
Chapter Five
Elowyn
