Page 163 of His To Erase

A breath pushes out of me—tight and bitter.

“There was this group of girls that called me Static. They’d tell me I made things awkward just by breathing.”

I pause, clenching my jaw. That old burn flares in my throat, sharp and humiliating. Steven doesn’t speak. But I feel the change in the air, in the way he watches me now—less predator, and more…something else.

“Then one day, this guy just sat next to me, he didn’t say much, but he waited, and didn’t flinch when I butchered a sentence.”

A smile ghosts across my lips. “I think he said like four full sentences that whole week. But for the first time, someone listened and was just… there.”

I blink at the screen just in time to watch Sirius fall.

“And then he moved away.”

Steven blinks once. “So that’s why the wizard-dog broke you.”

I snort, eyes burning again. “Excuse you. He’s an animagus. He also happens to be the only person who saw Harry. Who stayed. Who made him feel... less alone.”

I glance at him.

“You’d cry too if your only person vanished into a curtain.”

He just tilts his head giving me this look. My mind instantly goes to the photos I found in his office. The look he’s giving me tells me he knows exactly what I’m talking about.

“So let me guess,” he says finally. “You spent the next ten years perfecting your English and collecting emotional baggage.”

I raise a brow. “No. I started lighting my Barbies on fire and learning how to fake smiles that don’t invite questions.”

His mouth twitches. “Therapy must love you.”

“Therapy can’t afford me,” I shoot back.

There’s a pause—just long enough for my brain to betray me. “My mom used to sing to me in Spanish. Only when she thought I was asleep though.”

It comes out before I can stop it, like my mouth forgot we don’t do that—don’t share random things, but here we are.

“My grandma always said I had la tormenta in me. Too much storm and not enough silence.”

He doesn’t say anything—but the air shifts as the corner of his lips curl. And I fucking hate how much I notice it.

“And you’ve been in Denver since?”

I shake my head, casually. “No, I actually just moved here last year.”

I glance back at the screen, like this whole conversation’s background noise. “Honestly? I don’t really remember the move. It was kind of a blur. But I just needed a change of scenery, you know?”

My thumb rubs over the seam of the blanket. “I was sick for a while—right after I got here. I kept having these weird dreams. Still do, but that’s not important.”

His eyes flick to mine at that—but he doesn’t push. I pause, searching the edges of my memory.

Steven doesn’t fill the space with reassurance like a normal person would. “I don’t think it’s normal to forget that much when you move.”

Fuck.

Right. I probably shouldn’t trauma-dump on the man who just rearranged my spine and threatened to brand me from the inside out.

I shrug, trying to play it off. “Guess I just wasn’t paying attention.”

It’s a lie, but it’s the safest one I’ve got. My thumb rubs at a spot on the blanket that isn’t even there, chasing a memory I don’t really want to catch.