Page 41 of His To Erase

The pieces are snapping into place. Not clearly, not even all at once, but they’re slow, ugly, and crooked.

I suddenly understand why that photo—the one I pretend didn’t have an effect on me—made my skin crawl the second I saw it.

It’s because the truth is ugly and it’s getting harder to ignore.

It’s not just that I don’t remember being in that photo, it’s that somewhere—buried beneath the walls I’ve built and the memories I swore I’d burned—I do remember.

I’ve always remembered, I just didn’t let myself know it.

Now that it’s here—rising like smoke I can’t un-breathe—it’s too much.

My throat tightens and my chest squeezes like someone’s yanked all the air out of the room and my hands won’t stop shaking.

I try to count again—to breathe—something.

But all I can hear is that voice. All I can feel is that weight pressing down on me again like it never really left.

My phone buzzes, loud and jarring in the stillness, and I flinch so hard I nearly drop it. My heart slams into my ribs like it’s trying to crack them open.

Steven: You’re not that easy to break, Ani. Don’t start acting like it now.

Get your shit together. Breathe. I assume you know enough to keep the door locked until I get there?

I’m coming, so try not to look like you need me when I get there.

I stare at the screen, and I can practically hear his voice in my head—laced with that dangerous tone that makes you forget how to blink. He probably didn’t even think twice after sending it, either. Just fired it off like a command and expected me to obey.

My jaw clenches, because somehow, in the span of a few sentences, he managed to make me feel like I’m both losing control and back in it.

I hate that it worked, but the second I read those words, my pulse slowed just enough that my lungs remembered how to move. My thoughts—still racing and messy—are locked onto one thing like a goddamn anchor.

Him.

And now I’m stuck in this fucked-up space between panic and something else entirely, because if he were here, I don’t know if I’d scream at him or climb him.

I close my eyes leaning back against the couch, letting his voice live in my head for a second longer than I should.

The audacity. Part of me wouldn’t be surprised if the second I unlock the door, he’ll be on the other side with blood on his hands and a calm expression on his face, like violence is just another chore he checked off on the way over.

My fingers are already moving before I know what I’m doing.

Ani: Thanks for the pep talk, Daddy…Next time just send a Hallmark card.

I hit send, then roll my eyes. If I’m going to be this unhinged, I might as well commit.The second it delivers, I blink at the screen and sit back as a slow, delayed oh fuck rolls through me like thunder after lightning.

Shit.

I just realized how he’s probably going to take that. This is why we can’t have nice things, Ani.

“Smooth,” I mutter under my breath, dragging my hands down my face. “Fucking genius.”

I drop my phone on the coffee table like it might catch fire if I hold it any longer. I don’t need to know what he’s going to say in response, because I already know he’s going to make it a thing.

I suddenly find myself biting back a laugh. It’s too much or maybe it’s just enough, because the silence in this apartment still feels wrong. My toothbrush is still sitting on my pillow like a fucking threat with a smile, so yeah, I’ll let him come.

I’ll let him storm in with that voice like a blade and those eyes that see too much. But if he thinks I’m going to fall apart in his arms and thank him for it, he really doesn’t know who he’s dealing with.

I stand up a little too fast, and start pacing again. I decide to head into my room to do something that feels like control—I need to change my clothes, and fix my hair. If he’s really coming, I want to look like I chose to survive tonight, not like I barely managed it.

I yank open my dresser drawer and catch myself in the mirror above it.

I look like someone who’s already unraveling and trying too hard to pretend she’s not.

Yet, somehow, I know the second he walks through that door, he’s going to see it.

He’s going to see the fear I’ve been wearing like perfume and there’s part of me that doesn’t know whether to fight him or collapse into whatever twisted safety he’s offering.

One second I’m thinking about Steven, and the next I’m drowning in that memory on the floor again with my back against the couch and my knees pulled to my chest like they might hold something in.

There’s a shift in the air a moment before Steven opens the door, and steps inside like he was summoned. Dressed in black, with his jacket unzipped enough to frame the danger beneath it. He moves like he’s not here to ask if there’s danger, he’s here to find it—and kill it quietly.

His gaze sweeps the room once, cutting through the silence like a blade. Then it lands on me, still curled up on the floor.

“Let’s go.”

The words barely land before my brain starts short-circuiting. Go? Go where? Why the fuck does he have a key to my apartment, and why aren’t we talking about that first?

I don’t move, I can’t. My feet stay rooted to the floor—maybe if I stand still long enough, this will all stop feeling so real. A hundred questions pile up like a traffic jam.

Where are we going? Why now? What the actual hell is happening? I didn’t actually realize until just now, that I never told him where I lived. As far as I knew, he thought my apartment was the next complex over.

None of that makes it out of my mouth because deep down—under the panic and the defiance I keep duct-taped to my ribs—I already know the answer. And of fucking course, part of me feels safer for it. Even though he insists he’s not the one stalking me.

I grab my bag like it might tether me to something real—something normal. But my fingers are half-numb and my body’s already moving, already choosing to survive before my brain has time to come up with a reason not to.

He doesn’t even look at me, he just turns and starts walking assuming I’ll follow. He’s not wrong. I’m not staying here.

I get up and do exactly that, following behind him. Keeping my mouth shut, despite the questions piling up.

I step outside and shut the door behind me, locking it fast—like that’ll help. Steven says nothing as I catch up, I don’t ask where we’re going because it doesn’t matter. The cold night air bites at my skin as we walk, my heartbeat finally slowing enough to register the silence between us.

I don’t know what the fuck is going on anymore, or who to trust, but I’ll deal with the part where I still don’t know if Steven’s the villain or the getaway car later.