Page 8 of Twisted Violet

Even if I’m the last person who should be in this bed.

I’m the man who tells himself he doesn’t care, doesn’t get attached, doesn’t cross lines. Except I do. Because right now, I’m holding her like I’ve wanted to from the moment she reached for me in that shed. And I can’t even pretend it’s about the job anymore.

I feel it when the first sob hits her. Her whole body jerks with it. She tries to muffle it, tries to be quiet, like crying is something to be ashamed of. So I hold her even tighter.

She melts into me, and the scent of her hair hits me. Sweet and warm, like vanilla and sleep. Not a product or a perfume, just… her.

I breathe it in and I don’t know what the fuck comes over me.

Maybe it’s how fragile she feels. Maybe it’s the way she trusted me, of all people, with this moment. Or maybe it’s the part of me that’s been starving for her since the moment I laid eyes on her. But before I can stop myself, I lean in and press a kiss to the back of her neck.

It’s soft, barely there, but her whole bodygoes completely still.

Fuck.

I went too far. I can try to tell myself it’s harmless. That it’s just a quiet kiss she’ll forget about in the morning. But even as I think it, I know I’m full of shit.

She didn’t ask for that.

She asked me to stay, to hold her, to be someone who expected nothing in return, and I fucking blew it.

I’m an idiot.

I exhale, trying to reel it back in, trying to convince myself it doesn’t matter, that I can still be what she needs.

But then she shifts, and before I can process it, she’s reaching for my belt.

My brain blanks for a second, and then I freeze.

Because I know what this is, what she’s offering.

And yeah, maybe I’ve thought about her like that before, but not like this, not when she’s still reeling from everything.

I catch her wrist gently, before she can go further, and thread our fingers together instead.

She freezes, nods her head softly, and then breaks all over again.

Her sobs return, sharper this time.Messier.Like stopping her hand was worse than letting it happen.

I hold her tighter, not because I have to, but because Iwantto.

And for the first time since we met, I don’t feel bad about that.

I lie there for hours,staring at the wall, and listening to her breathe.

Now and then, she shifts in my arms, like she’s testing to see if I’m still here.

I try not to think too hard about why that makes me feel something.

Eventually, a thin strip of sunlight slips through the gap in the curtains.

It hits the far wall and crawls up - slow, warm and unwelcome.

It’s morning already.

She’ll be up soon, and she might be hungry.

I glance at the cold plate on the nightstand.