Page 31 of Safe (King’s Heart #1)

Grant

It’s been a few hours since Landon left me here. It might be around midnight, if I had to guess.

I haven’t looked at my phone. I cocooned myself in my blankets—the thing I always used to do before I had him to make it all better. Being alone and letting my issues consume me.

I’m feeling sorry for myself—even though I deserve it—when a knock sounds at the door.

I sit up slowly, feeling a sense of dread fill the air. It’s dead quiet after, not a word uttered from whoever decided to visit me at this time.

I creep out of bed, being careful not to make a sound. Light shines underneath the door, disturbed by a presence in the middle, still standing there. Not talking. Not knocking. Just waiting.

I sneak closer to the door, so close, but I can’t make myself look through the peephole.

“Grant.”

The word slithers underneath the door, trying to grab me by the feet as I stumble away.

No. No. He’s not supposed to be here. He’s not allowed.

“I need to give you something.”

I wildly shake my head at the door, stepping back even further, my feet in a frenzy to create space between us.

Bringing my hand up to cover my mouth, I let out a silent scream in the dark, hoping it’ll get rid of this. The feeling. But it remains, just like the shadow beyond the door does too.

I lower my hand, staring at the barbed wire, my trembling making it difficult for my eyes to focus on the twisted metal carved on my knuckles.

He speaks again. It’s calmer. Softer. Something meant to bring my defenses down. But I’m not a kid anymore. “Open the door, Grant. I’ll give this to you and then leave you alone. Come on. For your uncle?”

Fuck that.

You’re safe. You’re safe. He can’t get in here.

I repeat my mantra in my head. But that shadow stays put. And with each second he lingers on the other side of my door, my brain believes my words less and less.

Old urges kick in.

A bad taste floods my tongue, and with him only a few feet away, I can’t resist it this time.

My feet stumble over themselves—taking me to where I need to be. Doing what I know has always kept me safe.

I don’t know how long it’s been when I stagger into the bedroom again.

I feel better, and yet, not.

I hear no sounds, and the light comes under the door unfiltered.

But there by the door, a letter sits on the ground, like it was pushed underneath. My name typed neatly on the front.

Grabbing it, I walk to my nightstand and shove it inside to deal with another day.

I crawl into bed, covering myself with my blankets again, like that protects me from anything, and wishing that I wasn’t alone in this room tonight.

With tears leaking down my eyes, I type out a text.

Me

I’m sorry. I need you. I feel safe with you. I know you hate me, and you should, but for some reason, I can’t seem to live without you.

Then I delete it all before I can send it, turn over, and try to find sleep.