Page 7 of Twisted Violet

I set the plate down on the nightstand, careful not to let it clatter.

It’s stupid, how quiet I’m trying to be, like I’m worried any noise might crack whatever thin thread is holding her together.

I take a step back, my mind already halfway out the door, but then she shifts and blindly reaches her hand back for me.

Her fingers wrap around my wrist, soft but certain.

“I’m not ready to talk,” she says, her voice small as she still faces the wall. “But will you stay and hold me? Just for a little while?”

I freeze.

This is a line.

One I promised myself I wouldn’t cross.

I was hired to bring her home and keep her safe. Not to crawl into bed with her like some opportunistic asshole.

But there’s a part of me, a quiet, insistent part, that wants to say yes before she even finishes the sentence.

It’s the same part of me that gravitated towards her the moment we found her in that shed.

She was sitting in the corner with her knees pulled to her chest and her hair caked with blood.

She was bruised, barely conscious, and yet somehow, still so fucking alive.

I moved closer and her wild green eyes locked onto mine like she was sizing me up.

She didn’t cry, didn’t speak.

She just stared and something in that look wrecked me.

Because she didn’t look like a victim.

She looked like someone who refused to die.

Even after everythinghedid to her, she was still in there.

Quiet, shaken, but not gone and I admired the hell out of her for that.

But she was a job, so I buried my feelings. Pretended they didn’t exist. But now, with her holding my wrist like I’m her fucking lifeline, that feeling is coming back, and it’s impossible to ignore.

Getting close to her is a mistake.

But it’s one I’m going to make anyway.

I ease forwardand climb into bed behind her.

The mattress dips beneath me, the blanket pulling just slightly as I settle in.

She doesn’t look at me, just keeps her face buried in the pillows like she’s trying to stay hidden.

I slide one arm beneath her pillow, the other over her waist, and I hold her. Not tightly. Not tenderly.Just steady, like I’m giving her something to lean on without making a thing of it.

She exhales and I feel her start to soften.

Not a lot, but enough to know she needed this.

Neededme.