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“The French dip,” I reply. “And half fries, half onion rings.”
He smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Exactly what I thought you’d want.”
“Did you get mayonnaise?”
“And ketchup,” he says. “Even as disgusting as it is.”
“Don’t knock it till you try it,” I say, just as I do every time he questions my culinary choices. It’s so normal, so absolutely normal that it helps me feel a bit better than I have all day.
“You got me to eat pineapple on pizza, Lani, but I draw the line at the mayo and ketchup mix.”
Pineapple on pizza.
It floods back to me, hitting me out of nowhere and knocking the good mood right out of me. The memory and waking up in that closet, thinking—for a moment—that I was back in my living room beside Gibson. The sobs come fast, and my shoulders begin to shake. “I’m sorry,” I choke out, embarrassment flushing my cheeks. Still, I can’t make it stop.
Once the gates are opened, everything comes out all at once.
I’m not sure how long I’ve cried, but after lowering the guard on the side, Gibson slides onto the thin mattress and pulls me against him. I roll on my side and bury my face against his strong chest, tears flowing freely as all of the pain, fear, and anger that I’ve tried to bury today comes flooding to the surface.
It hurts to breathe.
The nightmares continue to assault me—I’m not even sure how long—but the entire time I break down, Gibson is right there, doing what he can to hold me together.
He presses a kiss to the top of my head and clings to me, whispering against the top of my head. It takes me a few minutes to realize it’s a prayer.
He’s praying over me.
For me.
With me.
“I don’t get it,” I say through the tears. “I don’t know what I did. Why me?”
“You didnothing.You hear me?” he says. “None of this is your fault.”
I shake my head. “Someone hates me enough that they abducted me and chopped off my hair, Gibson. I can’t understand why. I’m a good person. Or at least, I try to be. I help my patients. I volunteer. I do what I can, so why did this happen?” The sobbing continues, my shoulders shaking. I suck in breath after breath, trying so hard to regulate my breathing so I don’t push myself into a full-on panic attack.
But it just keeps coming.
All while he clings to me, grounding me in this reality so I’m not completely taken over by the nightmare still fresh in my mind. “I can’t tell you why, but I promise you that we’re going to figure it out. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure this never happens to you again. No one will ever hurt you ever again, Lani.” He presses another kiss to the top of my head, then rests his cheek against my hair.
My tears begin to subside, but the pain is still there.
The fear.
Will it ever go away?
“I’m scared,” I whisper. “I’m so scared, Gibson.”
“I know you are,” he replies. There’s no ‘but,’ no mountain of reasons I shouldn’t be scared, just an acknowledgment of the emotion burning a larger hole in my heart every passing second.
Minutes tick by as I do what I can to gather myself together. Gibson remains a solid strength beside me, not letting me go and not pressuring me to talk until I’m ready. As soon as I can draw a steady breath, I wipe my eyes and lean back to look up into his eyes.
He’s staring down at me, gaze shimmering with tears. Because I need it, and I sense he does, too, I stretch up and press my lips to his.
It’s a whisper of contact, just a brush of my mouth against his, but as he cups my face, the kiss deepens, turning into a need to burn the pain from my soul, leaving only this.
Me and him.