Chapter 15
Isettle against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart beneath my ear. For the first time since my rescue, I feel like I might have a future worth looking forward to. Not just survival, but something more.
"Thank you," I say softly.
"For what?"
"For seeing me. The real me. Not just what they tried to make me."
His arms tighten around me, protective and gentle all at once. "I think I saw you from the very beginning."
I believe him. In that cold facility, when I was nothing but a number, a project, a broken thing to be fixed, he somehow saw past all of that. He saw the woman I used to be, and the woman I could be again.
I close my eyes, breathing in his scent, letting myself sink into this moment of peace. For so long, touch meant pain, or the prelude to pain. Now it means comfort. Safety. Maybe even something more that I'm not ready to name yet.
"We should get up," Aiden murmurs against my hair, though he makes no move to release me. "Get something to eat."
My stomach rumbles in agreement, and I laugh softly. "I guess that's a yes."
But neither of us moves right away. This cocoon of warmth, of connection, is too precious to break. His fingers trace lazy patterns on my back, and I find myself mapping the contours of his chest, memorizing the rhythm of his breathing.
Finally, Aiden shifts, pressing a kiss to my forehead before sitting up. "Stay here.”
I sit up, the sheet falling away, feeling suddenly exposed. A strange panic flutters in my chest, like a bird trapped in a cage. What am I doing?
Aiden is watching me, his eyes gentle but questioning.
"Lana? What's wrong?"
"I don't know," I whisper, wrapping my arms around myself. "This feels... too good. Like it can't be real."
He reaches for me, but stops when I flinch involuntarily. His hand hovers in the air between us, and I see concern etched across his features.
"I'm sorry," I say quickly. "I didn't mean to—"
"Don't apologize." His voice is firm but gentle. "Your body is still processing trauma. These reactions are normal."
I draw a shaky breath, fighting the urge to retreat further. "I just... I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For this to turn into something else."
Aiden sits up slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements. "That's understandable. Trust takes time to rebuild."
"But I do trust you," I insist, frustrated with my own reactions. "At least, I want to."
Aiden's eyes soften as he watches me, careful to keep his distance. "Trust isn't just about intentions, Lana. It's about your body believing you're safe, too. And that takes time."
I nod, drawing the sheet up around me like armor. The fabric feels cool against my flushed skin, grounding me in this moment rather than the shadows lurking at the edges of my mind.
"Can I come closer?" Aiden asks, his voice gentle.
I nod again, forcing myself to breathe through the momentary panic. He moves slowly, telegraphing each movement as he settles beside me, not touching but close enough that I can feel his warmth.
"What do you need right now?" he asks.
The question catches me off guard. What do I need? For so long, my needs were irrelevant, my desires crushed beneath the weight of survival. Having someone ask what I need still feels revolutionary.
"I don't know," I whisper, my voice smaller than I want it to be. "Maybe just... time?"
"Just sit with me," I say finally. "I think I just need to feel... normal for a minute."
Aiden nods, settling beside me against the headboard. He doesn't touch me, but his presence is solid, reassuring. We sit in silence for several minutes, the only sound our breathing gradually synchronizing.
"I used to think I knew what normal was," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "Before everything happened, I had this routine. Wake up, coffee, teach, grade papers, feed Mochi, sleep. Repeat. It felt so... ordinary at the time."
Aiden listens without interrupting, his blue eyes steady on my face.
"Now I'd give anything to feel that kind of ordinary again," I continue. "But I don't think I can. That version of me is gone."
"Not gone," Aiden says softly. "Changed. There's a difference."
I consider his words, turning them over in my mind like smooth stones in a river. Changed, not gone. The distinction feels important, though I'm not sure I fully understand it yet.
"How do I learn to live with who I am now?" I ask, the question that's been haunting me since my return.
Aiden's hand rests on the bed between us, palm up—an invitation, not a demand. After a moment, I place my hand in his, his fingers closing around mine with gentle pressure.
"One day at a time," he says. "Some days will be harder than others. You'll have setbacks. But each time you choose to keep going, you get stronger."
I look down at our joined hands, marveling at how something so simple can feel so profound. His thumb traces circles on my skin, the rhythmic motion soothing the jagged edges of my anxiety.
"Maybe you're right," I whisper, watching the way his thumb moves against my skin. The gentle rhythm is hypnotic, grounding. "I just wish there was a roadmap for this. Some kind of guide to tell me I'm doing it right."
Aiden smiles, the expression warming his eyes. "If there was a perfect roadmap for healing, someone would have found it by now."
I let out a soft laugh that surprises me. "I guess so."
My stomach growls again, louder this time, and Aiden's smile widens. "I think that's our cue." He squeezes my hand gently before releasing it. "How about I make us some breakfast?"
"That sounds good," I say, feeling steadier now. The moment of panic has passed, leaving me drained but calmer.
Aiden slides from the bed, pulling on his pants with unhurried movements. I watch him, appreciating the fluid grace of his body, the way muscles shift beneath his skin. He catches me looking and smiles, a hint of heat in his gaze that makes my cheeks warm.
"Take your time," he says. "Join me when you're ready."