Page 117 of Shadows of Obsession

"Do you need anything?" I asked, starting to shift, preparing to get up and attend to whatever she needed. Water, pain medication, food, anything.

But Anna stopped me with a gentle hand pressed to my chest, her palm warm through the thin fabric of my t-shirt. "No… but I want to get out of bed. Just lying here is making me sore."

She shifted to sit up, and the sheets slipped away from her body. I watched as a flicker of realization crossed her face, her eyes widening slightly at the memory of her state of undress. A warm blush spread up her neck, flooding her pale cheeks with color, stark against her otherwise fragile, vulnerable appearance.

The sight of her sudden embarrassment, after the horrors we had shared, tightened something in my chest.After everything, she's worried about being naked.

I had carried her straight to bed from the shower in her distress last night, not even thinking about clothes, just getting her somewhere safe and warm where she could rest.

She glanced up at me shyly, embarrassment warring with vulnerability in her eyes, and something in my chest tightened at how fragile she seemed in that moment.

I merely raised an eyebrow, keeping my expression gentle and filled with understanding. "I'll meet you downstairs," I murmured, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to her forehead before slipping out of the room.

I gave her space, recognizing her need to feel in control of something again.

As the door clicked shut behind me, I stood in the hallway for a moment, pressing my palms against my eyes and taking a deep breath. Everything felt heavy—my body, my thoughts, the weight of responsibility settling on my shoulders.

She's alive. She's here. That's what matters.

In the kitchen, I busied myself with making something for Anna to eat. Her throat had to be sore. From crying, from stress, from everything. I found a can of chicken noodle soup in the pantry, comfort food, easy to swallow, and heated it in the microwave while the coffee machine gurgled through a fresh pot.

My mind drifted to what she must be seeing in the mirror right now: the bruises, the rope burns, the injection site. All the visible evidence of what had been done to her.

I worried that she would blame herself, wonder if she could have prevented it, or question if she could ever feel safe anywhere again.

I knew those thoughts because I was having them too. Different variations, same core fear.

The microwave beeped, pulling me from my spiraling thoughts. I carefully removed the steaming bowl and set it on the table just as I heard her soft footsteps on the stairs.

When Anna entered the kitchen, I took in her appearance with a quick, assessing glance. She'd applied makeup, careful layers ofconcealer trying to hide the worst of the bruising. And despite the summer heat, she wore sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt that covered her wrists and arms.

My heart ached. She was hiding the marks.

I guided her to sit, my hands gentle on her shoulders, needing to touch her, to feel the solid reality of her presence. "It's just some soup to help soothe your throat," I explained, keeping my voice low and soothing.

I pressed a tender kiss to the top of her head, letting my lips linger a moment as I breathed in her scent, vanilla shampoo and that indefinable something that was just Anna. Then I moved back to the counter to pour myself a cup of coffee, giving her a moment to settle.

"Thank you," she whispered, voice thick and slightly hoarse.

I settled into the chair beside her, close enough that our knees brushed under the table. The contact grounded me, reminded me that we were both here, both alive.

Anna gathered her courage, I could see it in the way she straightened her shoulders, the determined set of her jaw despite the pain it must have caused. "Should we talk about last night?" she asked tentatively, fingers fidgeting with the spoon beside her bowl.

My brow furrowed. Concern spiked through me, wondering if she was having second thoughts, or if she blamed me, or wanted space.

Anna took a steadying breath, gaze dropping to the table before meeting mine again. "I know it was a lot, finding out everything about Nikki…" she began, voice barely above a whisper.

I realized she was worried about me, not herself.

I watched her watch me, bracing herself for the withdrawal and shut-down she'd witnessed after the break-in at my cabin. But this was different. Everything was different now.

I reached out and gently cupped her face, careful to avoid the worst of the bruising. My thumbs lightly stroked her cheekbones, feeling the warmth of her skin, the slight tremor that ran through her at my touch.

"To be honest," I said, my voice steady and sure in a way I hadn't expected, "I feel fine."

Her eyes widened in surprise, and I hurried to explain before she could misunderstand.

"Sure, it was a shock to find out the truth," I continued, holding her gaze. "But it was also closure. For years, I've been haunted by not knowing. By the randomness, the senselessness. But now I know who did it and why."