Page 197 of His To Erase

Get it together, Ani. You’re smart. You’re still breathing.

Glancing back down at my phone, I don’t let myself cry. I don’t let myself think.

I just type out a quick excuse to Sarah, fingers trembling as I hit send, and pray she doesn’t ask too many questions. If anything happened to her…No, I can’t go there.

ME: Hey. I’m so sorry—I can’t cover tonight. Something came up. I’ll make it up to you, I swear.

SARAH: Babe. You okay? Not judging, but if you’re getting dicked down, just say that. AND It’s fine. I’ll figure it out. But you owe me greasy fries and deets next shift.

I look in the mirror again, I look like someone on the verge of unraveling and pretending not to notice.

“Get it together,” I whisper, running cold water over my wrists like that’ll magically stitch me back up. “It’s fine. You’re fine. End of story.”

My fingers curl around the edge of the sink again, until my knuckles throb. I could text Steven… The thought barely finishes forming before I kill it.

No.

Fuck that.

I don’t need saving. Not from him. Not from Frank. Not from anyone.

I’ll stay here for the afternoon, keep my head down, then bail later. I’ll say I’m sick, or tired, or just not up for it. Hell, it’s not even a lie.

The truth is—my body still hurts from last night. Every inch of me aches, and not just from the sex, but from the emotional whiplash of being wanted, then discarded, then wanted again. My brain can’t keep up. My chest is tight, and my thoughts are loud enough that I’m not even sure who I’m running from anymore.

Myself, maybe.

I dry my hands, swiping under my eyes with the cuff of my sleeve, and force a deep breath into lungs that barely expand, and head back downstairs.

Thank God Sarah will understand, and not question me if I don’t respond to her text. I’m not going to tell Frank that though, I don’t need him to have any more reasons why I should stay here and hang out with him.

He’s still in the kitchen with his sleeves rolled up, and a pitcher of something bright and citrusy on the counter beside two plates. He looks up as I step into the room, with a smile already in place.

Frank’s voice cuts through the quiet. “You okay?”

I nod. “Yeah. Just tired.”

“You look like you didn’t sleep much last night,” he says gently. “Have you been eating?”

I blink slowly. Well, that’s one way to say I look like shit. Every girl’s dream compliment.

I glance up at him, and he’s watching me now, not bothering to hide it. My fingers tighten on my phone, but I keep my mouth shut since I’m trying to get out of here in one piece.

“I was thinking,” Frank says, his voice low and coaxing. “Do you want to grab dinner before your shift?”

I don’t answer right away. Something about the way he says it gives me pause. I know I should say no. That I should stand up, say thank you for drinks, and walk the hell out of this house with whatever dignity I’ve got left. But my limbs feel heavy. Not dramatic like I’m about to collapse—just slow.Probably means I should eat something, honestly.

“If it’s just dinner.” I say—mostly to myself. But even as the words leave my mouth, a part of me knows he’s not going to make it that simple.

He nods and gestures to the couch. “Sit a minute, won’t you.”

I hesitate—because Iamtired. Hopefully I’m not sitting for too long, because I’m sure the second I let myself think about how easy it’d be to rest here, to just lean back for a moment—I’ll be out.

But I sit anyway.

The couch gives beneath me, soft and warm like a fucking invitation. I fold my arms tight, trying to keep my nerves in check. I can’t stop thinking about that text, but at least Sarah’s safe for now. Frank moves quietly around the kitchen, stacking plates like we’re some kind of couple and this is just a normal afternoon. When he returns, he’s got a blanket in one hand. He doesn’t ask—just drapes it across my lap with careful hands.

“Almost done.” he murmurs, smoothing the edge of it. “Then we’ll head out.”