Page 132 of Let Me In

He’s so solid beneath them.

So warm. So sure. But my body won’t move.

It’s like the air has turned to molasses—each breath a slow drag, my limbs too heavy, my will too uncertain.

I don’t pull away.

But I don’t lean in, either.

I just stand there.

Frozen.

Like last night, when he came to get me. When he said he was coming and all I could do was hold my breath and not say no.

Because sometimes I don’t know how to say yes.

I need him to decide.

To lead.

To be steady when I can’t be.

His hands are still holding mine. And I know—I know—he feels the tremble running through me.

But he doesn’t name it. Doesn’t ask me to explain. He just waits.

Lets the pause settle.

Then, without a word, he shifts.

His grip changes.

One hand slips from mine and comes to my waist, the other to the curve of my back.

And I know what he’s doing.

He’s going to guide me.

Because I can’t take that first step on my own.

Not yet. And he knows it.

His hands are steady. One at my waist, one at the small of my back.

And I know what’s coming.

I know what it means when he draws me close, when his knees part a little wider, when his grip shifts just enough to guide me forward.

Still—I try.

“Cal,” I breathe. “Please—”

I don’t even know what I’m asking for. Mercy, maybe. Reassurance. Or just for him to hear the ache in my voice, the plea behind the word that I can’t bring myself to say.

He doesn’t stop.

Doesn’t speak.