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When she moves to go back to her side of the bed, I grab her arm. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to stop her. She pauses, flicking her teary eyes to me. “Don’t go. I just—” I clench my jaw as I stare at her, my throat tight. “I just didn’t think you’d want to touch me.”
“Oh.” She sucks her lip between her teeth, looking away. Tugging gently on her arm, her attention returns to me.
“Come here,” I whisper, laying back and holding my arm out. She hesitates, looking at the empty space where she belongs. I almost expect her to retreat entirely, to go back to her side, to her safe little area. And I wouldn’t blame her. She needs to feel safe. She needs to feel secure.
So when she nods and settles beside me, resting her head on my chest, I’m shocked as fuck. Trying to hide it, I drape my arm around her, and it feels so fucking right to hold her close, to have her reading the same book with me again, to feel her weight against me. I never want to let her go.
My eyes close, and I breathe in her soft scent. I’ve missed this—I’ve missed her.
“I can start over,” I mutter, flipping a few pages back to the beginning.
“It’s alright.” Her voice is so flat, so lifeless. So not her.
I ignore her words and settle in to try to reread the first page for the nineteenth time. Glancing down, I see she’s just staring at the book, at the words. Her eyes aren’t shifting like she’s reading, she’s just staring. Always staring.
I hate it.
I know where her mind is, and I don’t want her to relive it. I know it’ll be something she’ll never forget, something that will haunt her forever. But I can’t stand it. The faraway look in her eyes like she’s back in that moment. I don’t want her to hurt anymore. I just…I want to fix it. I want to soothe the ache, take the pain away, make her feel whole again.
But how can I? Only time and her own coping will help her get back to a version of the person she was before.
Clearing my throat, I turn my attention back to the first sentence of the book. I take a deep breath, then begin reading. I feel her tense, like she wasn’t anticipating my voice, but I keep it soft and low, hoping it’s soothing and not annoying her.
Slowly, she sinks back into my side, nestling in deeper as I read. Her eyes drift shut, but I know she’s listening.
It reminds me of when we used to do this late at night and she was too tired to read, but wasn’t ready for me to leave. I’d cuddle with her on her bed and read while she dozed. It helped us both not feel so alone.
An idea dawns on me and I hold her tighter. Books were always the tether to each other, maybe they can be how we connect again. With the plan in place, I continue reading and don’t stop until she’s asleep.
* * *
Two days and a book later, she’s looking better. Her cheeks have more color, her eyes aren’t as dim, her hair isn’t as dull, and her face is…brighter. Lighter.
I’ve read to her constantly for the last two days. My throat hurts and I’m tired of the sound of my voice, but she’s coming back to me. Slowly.
After I finished The Goldfinch, she just stared at the closed book like she didn’t know what to do with herself. And honestly, I feel the same way. All we’d focused on for two days was this book. I’m starving, need some decent sleep, and a shower. But I’d do it all again.
Because now she’s up and looking through my bookshelf to find our next read.
I can’t remember the last time she was out of bed and walking around just because she wanted to. She’s gone to and from the bathroom, but hasn’t moved from her spot on my bed. Now, here she is, gripping the edge of the bookshelf as she scans the spines of the books. I can see her legs trembling from here, so I push off the bed and stride for her.
“Find anything?” I murmur, stepping behind her. No matter how badly I want to, I don’t touch her. I want to wrap my arms around her, hold her to my chest, and make sure she stays upright. But I don’t. Her shoulders tighten, but she takes a deep breath and relaxes.
“Not yet.” Her fingertips dance along the dark wood as she searches for what she wants.
“What are you in the mood for?” I ask, moving to her side and leaning against the shelves. Her brows bunch tightly together as she shakes her head.
“You need a better system,” she grumbles under her breath. “I can’t find anything.”
“I have a system.” She gives me a look like she doesn’t believe me, and I grin. “My favorite’s are by the bed.” I point at them, and she glances over her shoulder at the stack. “The ones I’ve read but hated are on the top shelf. The new ones are on the bottom shelf. Everything else is in between.”
She shakes her head, muttering to herself as she crouches to look at the next shelf. “I’m redoing this,” she finally says, glaring up at me through her lashes.
“Hey, don’t fuck with my system.”
“It’s chaos, Ro.” Without warning, she sits on the floor cross-legged and begins pulling books from the shelves. I push off the bookshelf, my spine straight and mouth open as I stare down at her in shock.
“What—Eve!” She ignores me as she continues pulling book after precious book from its home and drops it on the floor beside her. “What are you doing?”
