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But I can’t do any of that. All I can do is be here, even if she won’t let me in.
Don’t push.
“How long has she been like this?” I ask.
“She hasn’t said a word since we got back,” Blake says.
I nod, not taking my eyes off Naomi. “Has she eaten anything?”
“Won’t even look at food.”
Shit. With her history, that’s not good. Not good at all.
I stand, walking over to her fridge in the kitchen. Inside, I spot the salad container from earlier today. Half-eaten.
She ate some of it. I thought she would throw it away.
Any other time, my heart would’ve done that pathetic little dance it does whenever she eats something I made. Now it just twists seeing the evidence of how normal today started.
I grab it and a clean fork from her drawer. The metal feels cold against my palm as I return to her.
“Hey.” I crouch in front of her, holding out the container. “I know you don’t want to, but you need to eat something.”
Her eyes remain fixed on that same spot on the wall. I set the container on the coffee table, the plastic making a soft click against the wood.
“Just a few bites, cupcake. That’s all I’m asking.”
The fork trembles slightly in my hand as I hold it out to her. I feel fucking useless, reduced to begging her to eat a goddamn salad while her world crumbles around her.
“Please.” My voice cracks on the word. “For me?”
Her eyes snap to mine, a flicker of life in their depths.
That’s it. Come back to me. “Naomi?” I risk putting a hand on her knee. “Talk to me. Please.”
She blinks slowly, my words and touch taking a long time to reach her. “Brandon. I?—”
I throw the fork on the ground and surge forward, wrapping her into my arms. She resists, but I hold her close until she collapses into me, her fingers digging into my back instead of pushing at my chest.
“I can’t fix this.” My voice comes out rougher than intended. “Can’t make the pain stop or bring her back. But I’m here, right in this mess with you. Not running, not hiding. Just here, holding you.”
She shakes her head, but I press on. “Your problems? They don’t scare me. Never have. What scares the shit out of me is watching you fade away.” Because in this whole fucked-up menu of my life, she’s the only dish that makes sense.
Her throat works. “Brandon…”
I cup the back of her head, my fingers threading through her hair. Gently, I nudge her head under my chin, tucking her into the crook of my neck. She fits there like she was made for it, her breath warm against my skin.
A shudder runs through her, and then another, until her whole frame is shaking with silent sobs.
I don’t say anything. What is there to say? No words can make this better, can erase the horror of what she’s been through. So I just hold her, one hand stroking her back while the other cradles her head.
Behind me, I hear the soft click of the door. Probably Blake, slipping out.
Naomi’s tears soak into my shirt, hot and wet against my skin. Each one feels like a piece of my heart breaking, shattering into shards that slice me from the inside out.
I press my lips to her hair, my arms an unbreakable fortress around her shaking form until her sobs subside, until her breathing evens out and her body sags against mine, exhausted and spent.
And even then, I don’t let go. I can’t. Because letting go means facing the reality of what’s happened, of the long road ahead. Letting go means watching her retreat back into herself, back into that hollow shell.