Cassidy
The house goes silent the moment Silas drives away. Not quiet, not just empty, but silent enough that my body notices and reacts before my brain does, searching for comfort that isn’t there anymore.
Even the fridge has stopped humming. The boiler is quiet. The house feels like it’s holding its breath.
I rub at my sternum hard enough that the pressure aches. It still doesn’t loosen the tightness underneath.
It’s strange. I’m used to being home alone, but right now, it physically hurts.
I have spent enough nights here alone to know there is nothing frightening about silence.
And yet, tonight, the quiet feels wrong.
I’m safe. The words arrange themselves neatly in my head like that should be enough to make them true.
It doesn’t.
My lips still feel warm from his kiss, and my skin still remembers the heat of his body against mine.
My scent perfumes in the hallway, soft, obvious, and embarrassing, and for once, I’m grateful there’s no one here to notice.
Calm down, Cassie.
Heat rushes through me, gathering low and sharp.
No.
Not now.
Silas said not to think about it tonight. Silas said nest. Music. No alarms. Sleep.
A task list I can easily complete without disappointing him.
I can be good. I can follow instructions. I can be easy.
I toe off my shoes by the door, make it three steps down the hall, then turn back because one of them is crooked.
I have to rise onto my toes to hook my coat properly. It slips once, sleeve dragging down the wall, and guilt flashes through me, souring my scent like I’ve done something wrong.
I tuck my scarf into the basket, put my gloves on the radiator to dry, and catch my reflection in the hall mirror.
I stare at myself for a second too long.
The girl in the mirror looks flushed.
Soft.
Happy.
I look away first.
Water.
That wasn’t on Silas’s list.
But it feels like something he would add if he were here.
And the stupidest part is that I want him to approve. I want him to look at me and know I’m trying.
I walk through the hallway towards the kitchen, flicking on lights as I go.
Soft gold spills over polished kitchen counters, clean tiles, neatly stacked post, and the vase of flowers Mum bought before she left. Everything is exactly where it should be, which means there is nothing for me to correct.
Nothing demanding my attention.
Nobody has left dishes in the sink. Nobody has forgotten to close a cupboard.
Nobody has abandoned shoes beneath the table or left a mug going cold beside the kettle.
There is nothing to fix.
No tiny disaster. No useful little task. No proof that I matter.
I open the fridge and take out a bottle of water, the cold plastic biting against my palm. It’s only water, but it isn’t the bottle Silas pressed into my hand. It doesn’t come with his calm voice or his steady eyes or the quiet certainty that everything is okay.
Fuck, I’m pathetic right now.
One kiss, one order to rest, and suddenly, I don’t know how to exist in my own house.
“Water, done,” I murmur to myself, looking around the kitchen for any indication of what’s next.
The back door. It should be locked. I locked it this morning.
It has to be locked. I locked it this morning because I always lock it.
But checking will make the panic leave me alone for five minutes. And right now, five minutes sounds wonderful.
I cross the kitchen and check the back door handle, and, of course, it’s locked. I check it again. Then once more because the second time didn’t feel like it counted.
Still locked, Cass.
I rub at my chest, my pulse beating too fast in my wrists, my throat, the soft glands beneath my jaw, and I sigh. Outside, the garden is dark and wet, the patio gleaming beneath the security light.
Nothing moves except the rain, but I keep watching anyway. Waiting for the garden to look normal again.
I stand there longer than I need to, but nothing happens.
My phone stays silent in my hand. No missed calls. No messages. No little red number demanding something from me.
Nobody needs anything from me.
The thought should be peaceful.
Instead, it feels like I’m disappearing.
The silence presses against my ribs.
I swallow, grip the water bottle tighter, and turn away from the door.
It’s fine.
This is fine.
I am fine because Silas told me to rest, and I refuse to fail something as simple as that.
I need quiet. I have to relax. To sleep.
I switch off the kitchen light, and the dark rushes in behind me.
My hand snaps back to the switch before I can pretend I chose to do it.
Ridiculous.
I’m being ridiculous.
With a shaky breath, I make myself turn it off properly and head upstairs. Each step creaks softly beneath my feet.
Halfway up, the skin between my shoulder blades prickles.
I don’t hear footsteps. I don’t smell anyone.
The house is empty.
I know the house is empty.
It doesn’t feel it.
By the time I reach the landing, water bottle clutched to my chest and Silas’s instructions circling through my head, I feel stretched too tight for a house this quiet.
Being alone has never felt like this before.
Like the house is waiting for me to admit I don’t know how to be wanted when no one needs me.
I stand on the landing for longer than I need to.
Long enough that the automatic hallway light clicks off, plunging the entire house into darkness.
I flinch.
It’s fine, Cass. It’s just the sensor. It always does that.
I know this house. I’m safe here.
There is nothing wrong.
But the panic won’t loosen its grip on my chest. Instead, I grip the water bottle tighter and force myself down the hall towards my bedroom, grateful when the lights turn back on.
Nest.
Music.
No alarms.
Sleep.
Silas’s list.
The kind of thing I should be able to do without somehow getting it wrong.
I push open my bedroom door, and the familiar scent of my room wraps around me immediately.
Clean bedding.
Soft laundry detergent.
My vanilla body wash lingering faintly from this morning.
The deeper, safer scent of my nest tucked into the corner, threaded through with traces of me.
I usually feel better the second I step inside my room.
Usually, my shoulders drop.
Usually, I can breathe again.
Tonight, the room feels too neat.
Too open.
I place the water bottle on my bedside table, then immediately move it onto a coaster because condensation might leave a ring on the wood.
Then I adjust the coaster because it’s not centred.
Then I realise what I’m doing and freeze with my hand still hovering over the bottle.
For goodness sake, Cassie.
Nest.
Music.
No alarms.
Sleep.
I cross the room to my nest and stare down at it. It should be easy.
I have spent years building softness for myself out of blankets, pillows, cardigans, old jumpers. Tiny pieces of safety collected one at a time.
My nest is supposed to be the one place where nobody needs anything from me.
The one place where I can fold myself down into something small and warm and protected.
But now that I’m standing in front of it, I can’t make myself climb in.
Not yet.
My mind is too loud.
Too tangled.
Too full of Silas’s hands and Silas’s mouth and Silas’s voice telling me he wasn’t going to avoid me.
Too full of Harlan looking at me like wanting me hurt him… like I disgusted him.
Too full of Isaac lying and Evander knowing and Gemma smiling and Frankie laughing and everyone talking and nobody noticing that I’d stopped speaking.
Tears well up before I can stop them.
No, Cassie.
Silas said not tonight. He was very clear about that.
I’m supposed to get in my nest. Put something on. Turn off my alarms. Sleep until I wake up.
I can do that.
I can.
It’s a nest, not open-heart surgery.
I sit carefully on the edge of my nest, hoping my instincts will take over. That I’ll have the usual yearning to get in properly, to be there wrapped up safely.
The blankets dip around me, my own strawberry and cream scent rising warm from the fabric, and my body immediately relaxes.
My brain refuses to follow.
Instead, my eyes catch on the laundry basket by the wardrobe.
Relief hits me so fast it’s almost embarrassing.
It’s not full.
Not even close.
There are maybe four things in it.
A jumper.
Socks.
The leggings I wore after my shower yesterday.
A towel.
If I put a wash on now, it can run while I get ready for bed.
That’s sensible.
Productive.
Useful.
Not avoidance at all.
I gather the clothes and take them to the ensuite hamper, then pause because there are darks mixed in with colours, and that’s silly when I could separate them properly.
So, I do.
Then I notice the towel rail is uneven.
So, I fix that, too.
Then I spot a faint mark near the tap, probably from toothpaste this morning, so I get a cloth from the bathroom cupboard. By the time I’m done, everything looks perfect.
The towel is straight.
The laundry is separated.
The sink is clean.
And somehow, I’ve managed to create three new jobs for myself instead of doing the one thing Silas actually asked for.
I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror.
My cheeks are still flushed. My lips are swollen.
There are marks on my throat where Silas’s mouth was.
I touch one of the marks before I can stop myself.
A bruise.
The sight of it sends warmth curling low in my stomach before I can stop it. The second my fingers brush it, my whole body remembers.
His voice against my skin.
Come for me now, little moon.
Warmth hits me so suddenly I have to grab the edge of the sink.
No.
No, no, no.
Not tonight.
That was literally one of the most important parts of the instructions.
To be fair, those weren’t his exact words.
Silas didn’t specifically say don’t stand in the bathroom thinking about my mouth on your neck until you accidentally combust.
But it was heavily implied.
I turn away from the mirror because looking at myself like this feels too dangerous.
I go back into my bedroom and pick up my phone.
No messages.
That’s fine.
It’s really fine.
I should text Silas.
He asked me to text him once I’m in my nest.
A normal person would probably count this.
Or at least, they’d get into their nest properly.
That’s what he wants from me.
And yet… I look at it again. My body wants it. My brain refuses.
The moment I climb in, it’ll just be me.
I don’t know how to rest.
My phone stays silent in my hand.
The house stays silent around me.
And Silas’s task list keeps circling through my head like I should be able to do it.
Nest.
Music.
No alarms.
Sleep.
I want to be good for him.
I want to trust him.
I want to prove that all of this wasn’t a mistake.
That wanting it wasn’t a mistake.
That I wasn’t.
My body wants the nest.
My brain wants something to fix.
I stand there staring between them, doing absolutely neither.
At least for a few moments.
Eventually, I put the laundry basket back where it belongs and take another sip of water.
My mouth still feels strangely dry. It still tastes faintly like him.
Silas.
The thought alone makes heat rise beneath my skin.
I glance up.
The girl staring back at me in the mirror looks exhausted.
Not sleepy.
Worn out.
Like sleeping for a week still wouldn’t be enough.
My stomach twists.
Now that I’ve started thinking about it, I can’t stop. My mind drags me backwards.
School.
University.
Home.
Work.
Every version of me I can remember, and all of them are the same.
Ever since Daddy died… I’ve shaped myself around what everyone else needed.
I’ve been useful.
The word arrives before I can stop it.
A useful daughter.
A useful friend.
A useful student.
A useful employee.
A useful omega.
The list keeps growing, and so does the bitter taste in the back of my throat.
I swallow hard, hating the way my scent perfumes the room, sour and undeniably difficult, sinking into every blanket around me.
I like being useful. I do.
But… what else do I have going for me?
Gemma’s voice drifts back into my head.
Every compliment that felt targeted. Every phrase layered with a double entendre.
She’s my friend, but she also doesn’t see me beyond what I can do for her.
I immediately scowl. I should be better than that.
I don’t want her version of friendship. I don’t.
I believe that for all of three seconds before it starts slipping away again.
Who am I without helping people?
The answer should come easily. It doesn’t.
I stare at the floor, my throat tightening.
Useful is real.
Solid.
Something I can point to when everything else gets messy.
The thought arrives before I can stop it.
If I’m useful, they don’t leave.
The thought hits me so hard that I flinch.
“Oh.” The sound barely leaves my lips as I hold back the tears.
If nobody needs me… then what am I supposed to do?
And sitting here alone in the silence of my bedroom… I have absolutely no idea.
Slowly, I lower myself from the edge of my nest and onto the floor beside it. I crawl into it, not stopping until I’m right at the top, where my scent is strongest.
I bury myself under the blankets. My knees pull up to my chest automatically, and I wrap my arms around them.
The silence stretches around me, and I’m thrown back to the first night after Daddy died.
Everything was missing the usual noise and connection. Everyone was… miserable.
Mum was grieving. Dad and Papa were unable to hold it together. They were all just… empty, and none of them could be there for me the way they wanted.
I remember making myself useful because it was easier than being heartbroken.
I remember helping with dinners and laundry. I remember being praised for being so easy and such a dream. I remember how good it felt when everyone praised me for helping my family through it.
Nobody meant any harm, but somewhere along the way, I think I clung to that feeling.
If I’m useful, people stay.
If I’m useful, they need me.
If they need me…
My throat tightens.
Oh.
My eyes burn. I squeeze them shut, but the tears fall anyway.
I’ve always had something to offer.
Always had a role.
Always had a purpose.
Useful.
Useful.
Useful.
The word echoes through my head until I want to scream.
Isaac makes me feel understood. Evander makes me feel wanted.
Harlan makes me feel capable.
And Silas, he makes me feel safe.
But underneath all of it—underneath every interaction—there’s always been a tiny voice asking the same question.
What can I give them?
But I don’t have one.
I never have.
I don’t know who I am when nobody needs me.
If useful is all I’ve ever been… what happens if I stop?
How do I stop?
Silas said nest, music, no alarms, and sleep.
He asked me to text him.
I can do that now. I will do that now.
Cassidy
I’m in my nest.
Cassidy
I’m sorry it took so long.
Cassidy
But I am putting music on now, and I am going to do my best to sleep.
Silas
Good girl.
Silas
Thank you for messaging me, little moon.
Silas
Dream of me.
Silas
X
I blush, which is a weird feeling when I’m still tearing up, but I send him a heart emoji and move over to my music app.
I select my instrumentals playlist so I don’t have another voice in my brain right now.
Then I close my eyes and let myself cry.
A question I don’t know how to answer keeps circling through my head, and eventually, sleep must come.
It must.
Because I don’t want to spend all night wondering whether anyone would choose me, even if I had nothing to offer.