Page 47 of Scarred Sins

My eyes snap to his, my sclera dry from the lack of blinking. I bat my eyelids a few times to return the moisture and try my best to pretend like nothing happened. In fact, this is something that’s never happened before.

No one was ever able to pull me out of the haze of my own mind before.

“I got lost in thought,’’ I croak out, then clear my throat. “That’s good.You’llhave more help.’’

Arlo cocks his head to the side, eyes glued on mine. Momentarily, it’s a challenge of sorts. He wants me to be honest and stop the act, whereas I need him to drop the subject entirely. It’s too embarrassing to even think about, let alone admit it out loud.

“Wewill have more help.’’ The emphasis on the wordwemakes my eyes twitch in annoyance.

“No,’’ I state firmly.

“No?”

“No.’’

“Why?” He asks, tone gentle.

“Because I said so.’’

“Blair, talk to me. What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

How am I supposed to tell him?

My chest feels… odd. It’s heavy, and breathing is a heavy task. My hands tremble as I stand up, determined to lock the door of his bedroom tonight and keep him out of it. For the past nights, he slept in the chair close to the bed, and I’m certain it’s the only reason I was actually able to sleep.

Usually, connecting three hours of sleep was rare. The nightmares were too strong, the sleep paralysis inevitable most of the time, and I was often left with bags under my eyes that never left. No amount of skin care or makeup helps cover them up.

Yet, with Arlo so close to me, my mind was at ease.

Something snaps in the depth of the everlasting gray that matches the cloudy sky above, just as another thunderstorm hits.

It’s a pain – something I’m familiar with. Yet, Arlo doesn’t voice it out.

How the hell am I supposed to tell him that the thought of being close to Zoe was making me uncomfortable? How am I supposed to tell him that it brings discomfort, unlike anything I’ve felt in my entire life? It would be pathetic.

“I’m going to sleep,’’ I announce. “Sleep elsewhere.’’

Before I can get sucked into his deep gaze, I look away and forcefully drag my feet away from him, going toward the stairs and his bedroom.

I curl myself into a ball on his bed while the covers hug me tightly, and I can’t help but feel utterly stupid. These feelings weren’t supposed to appear, ever, and they definitely aren’t valid.

But I can’t brush it off.

From the time I met him as Doctor Benjamin Miller to the time I saw him on the bus in Long Grove to the moment I came here, it all made me attached to him, more than I’d like to admit.

He killed people for me. He massacred an entire prison for me.

In every sense of the word, Arlo De Santis is my savior.

Mysavior.

Mine.

I don’t want him to share the fucked-up aspect of our lives with another woman, or any other part of him, for that matter. He saw me as a damsel in distress, and as long as I need his help, he’ll be here.

Zoe Adams is someone who needs help, too, which is why I’m feeling guilty. It’s eating me on the inside, and I don’t know how to shake it off. She likely doesn’t even know Arlo; she just needs someone strong and courageous enough to help her out of the terrible situation she’s in.

But does it really need to be him?