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“I brought a bagel and cream cheese for you,” Bastian says through the door. “Enzo said you liked peanut butter and banana English muffins, but we only have crunchy peanut butter, and I’m not subjecting you to that.
“Not hungry,” I say from the cocoon of my blankets. It’s a lie. I am hungry. I’m also tired and sad, and I don’t want to effort my way through interacting with them.
“Um, OK. I’ll just leave them here, I guess.” He doesn’t sound like himself. The tone is wrong. The tray rattles on the ground, but I don’t hear his departing footsteps.
I wait, tense and chewing the inside of my cheek raw, for Bash to just leave.
The door creaks, and tears well in my burning eyes. But I don’t hear the knob turn, or the click of the latch sliding out of place. Just Bash’s footsteps, finally growing quieter.
At lunch, Axe tries his luck. “You awake, Dove? I got some fresh pasta from the local noodle guy. He’s an area favorite, so I’m sure you’ll like?—”
“Still not hungry,” I rasp out through a dry throat and even drier lips.
Something slams against the door or wall, making me jump, but Axe doesn’t argue. The tray rattles to the floor outside my door, and I relax as his footsteps retreat.
I just need time. Time for it to stop replaying in my mind over and over.
Time for me to stop feeling guilty about causing it.
Time to stop feeling his fingers on me.
Around dinner time, I move from the bed to the chair in the corner. Hugging my knees, my body coils with tension in expectation of Enzo.
I expect him to bounce through the door and through all of my protests, hop on the bed, and tell me something that lightens my mood.
That’s what I prepared for.
So when Dashel, of all the heirs, comes knocking, I don’t quite know what to say.
“Dove, it’s Dash. I’m coming in.”
“I-I…”
The door eases open, and Dashel stands there with a glass of water and some crackers on a plate. He sets them both on the table next to me and then sits on the ground in front of me.
“Whatever you need, Dove. However long it takes.”
He holds out a hand, asking me to take it.
I don’t, and he simply nods, unbothered.
“You’re only job right now, is doing everything you need to get through this. Don’t let the others make you feel guilty about taking too long or failing to protect you.”
“But I don’t blame?—”
Dashel’s topaz gaze flares with fiery amber light. “You should. He should have never been there. Should have never touched…” He takes a moment, until the rage clouding his eyes burns out. “But that’s not the point. I’m saying, what happened was awful, and you’ve every right to take as long as you need.”
I nod, appreciating the validation.
“Your friends have been blowing up our messages.”
A ball of guilt lodges right in my chest, dead center. They’re probably so worried. “Oh, I didn’t think to—I should call them.”
“They are not your concern, Dove. I’ve handled them for you.”
I stare at him, confused, guilty, and so unbelievably tired. “Then why even bring it up? As a matter of fact, why are you even here, Dashel? You don’t like me. You can hardly stand being in the same room as me.”
The heir lowers his head, waves of chestnut hair falling forward, covering his forehead. “I’m telling you because right now, it’s important that you know people care about you.”
