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Silence settles around us again, and I glance at the door, holding my breath as I wait for him to come. I need to see his face, really see it. She squeezes my hand again, and I turn my attention to her, finding her uncharacteristically serious.
Her mouth opens, but she hesitates. Finally, she lets out a long breath. “What happened, Evie?”
My stomach rolls at the question. Hot tears burn as they drip from my eyes and soak into the pillow. Even if I wanted to speak, I can’t. My throat is too tight, words are too hard.
“It’s okay if you’re not ready to talk about it,” she continues, giving me a knowing look. “But I’m here when you are.”
Swallowing thickly, I nod, my hand still in hers. She brings it to her lips and kisses the back of it. “You’re not alone,” she murmurs, her breath tickling my skin as she gives me the exact words I needed to hear.
“He—” I squeeze my eyes shut at the memories. It’s been days, over a week, but it feels like it just happened. Like I’m in that room with him, on my knees—
“It’s okay,” she says, sounding panicked. She slides closer, but doesn’t touch me. “Stop thinking about it, Evie. I’m here. It’s okay—”
“Eve?” I stiffen at the deep voice, and burrow deeper under the blankets, hiding my body.
Dirty.
So, so dirty.
“Wait,” Oli hisses. “Wait.”
His footsteps are loud as he storms across the room, but he doesn’t touch me. He doesn’t pull the blankets back. But I feel him hovering, looking down at me.
“What’s wrong?” His voice is soft, gentle, and at complete odds with the memories assaulting my mind. I tune him and Oli out as I focus on my breathing, letting Oli’s hand still wrapped in mine ground me.
I’m safe.
I’m okay.
I’m in Mammoth, in Roman’s bed, not in Divinity. Not in that room.
Not with Isaac.
A whimper leaves me at the thought of his name, the flash of his face through my mind.
Isaac’s not here.
I’m with Roman.
I’m with Oli.
I’m with Chase. And Kon.
I’m safe.
I’m safe.
I’m safe.
My eyes flutter open, and I stare up at Oli’s worried face. Her eyes are wide, her cheeks pale. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her look like that, and I hate that I’m the reason for it.
But I can’t make myself calm down. I can’t make myself stop spiraling.
I was always the strong one. I made sure she was okay, not the other way around. I always protected her, cared about her. Now, she’s doing it all for me. And being on the receiving end feels…wrong. It feels different. I don’t like it. I don’t like the pity, or the attention.
Is this how she always felt when we came to her house after everything happened? Did she hate the pity I know I had on my face? The sympathy?
“I’m sorry,” I whisper so quietly I don’t think she hears me. I know she won’t understand fully what I mean. But I need to tell her regardless. I am sorry, if I ever made her feel like that.
