Chapter 7 #2
I curl into her like gravity has shifted. The sobs come in waves, each one stealing more air, my lungs burning as I drag breath back in through my nose.
She shifts slightly, instructing, "Stay with me. Breathe."
I nod against her shoulder even though it feels impossible. My breath stutters, then slows by a fraction as she counts quietly near my ear. Then she orders, "In. Out."
I follow because there's nothing else to do.
After a while, she eases back, keeping one hand on my arm while she looks at my face. Her eyes flick down to my legs, then back up without comment. Her jaw tightens again.
"Let's try to get you off the floor," she suggests.
I don't fight her.
She stands and pulls me up, careful and firm, keeping the blanket clutched tight around me. My legs wobble, but she braces me at the waist, taking my weight without complaint. We move slowly, step by step, until I'm sitting on the couch.
She crouches in front of me again, her hands on my knees through the blanket. She says, "You're naked and shaking."
I laugh, brittle and broken. "I know."
She exhales through her nose and stands again. I watch her move through the room, gathering clothes from my bag, and bringing them back without asking. She holds up my oversized sweater and orders, "Arms."
I comply because arguing takes energy I don't have. The fabric slides over my head, heavy and warm, and my shoulders sag when it settles around me. She helps me into leggings and socks.
Once I'm dressed, she sits beside me and pulls me to her side. My head drops against her shoulder again, my eyes burning, my body still trembling. I say in an empty voice, "He just left. He didn't even look back."
Demi's arm tightens around me. "I'm sorry."
I tilt my head, blinking at her. "How could he tell me he loves me and then leave?"
She furrows her forehead. A mix of anger and pity flares over her.
It breaks something open again. Tears spill over, and I press my face into her sweater, my hands gripping the fabric like it's the only thing keeping me upright. I finally sniffle, stating, "He didn't believe me that I'd take care of my dad."
Understanding and more sympathy morph on her expression. She sighs, muttering, "Our lovely family does it again."
"He didn't give me a chance. He thinks he's going to get killed!" I half-shriek.
She bites her lip.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" I ask.
She tilts her head.
"Demi!"
She puts her hands in the air. "It's not right what he did, but he has a point. Your father will kill him if he finds out."
"I said I'll take care of it!"
"Blue—"
"Don't you sit there and act like I can't handle this when you're trying to get with Nikolai!"
"That's different," she claims.
Anger hits me. "Yeah? How?"
"My father would never find out. I told you it's not a forever thing. It's a fun thing."
My insides quiver harder. New tears pop up. "I don't care. I'll get my father to accept Red. He has to. We love each other!" I break down again.
"Aw. Babe." She slings her arms back around me.
"Don't tell me it's not possible!" I choke out.
"Shh. I didn't say that," she replies.
I sniffle and pull back. "What am I going to do?"
She takes a deep breath and smiles. "I don't have the answers right now, but sometimes, we need space to figure things out. You're smart, Blue. And lucky for you, so am I." She grins bigger and winks.
A wet laugh comes out of me.
Her face falls. "If this is what you want, then we'll figure it out. And I know you love him, but give him some space. Let him miss you. If it's meant to be, everything will work out."
"It will?" I ask.
She nods. "Yes. Pinky promise!" She holds out her pinky.
A tiny smile curls at my lips. I link my finger with hers. "Thanks."
"Okay. Let's get out of here and get you home." She rises and holds her hand out.
I take it and let her help me stand. She leads me out of the house and to the SUV waiting in the driveway.
We get into the back of the car. The divider window is tinted and closed. The hour-long drive back to the city is quiet, with Demi glancing at me with her concerned look from time to time.
We don't turn on any music. She doesn't fill the space with advice or questions. The tires hum against the road, steady and dull, and the city passes by in streaks of gray and amber through the windshield.
I stare straight ahead, blanket folded in my lap, hands tucked into the sleeves of my sweater. My thighs ache beneath the fabric, a sharp reminder I can't forget even when I try.
At a stoplight, Demi glances at me. Her eyes flick down, then away again too fast, and heat crawls up my neck. She saw the blood. I know she did. I press my knees together harder, shame tightening my chest until my breath shortens again.
"I'm okay," I say, my voice thin but steady enough to pass. "I just want to be alone for a bit."
She doesn't answer right away. The light turns green, and the SUV eases forward.
"I can stay with you," she says.
I shake my head. "I'll be fine. I swear."
She exhales through her nose and nods once. "I need you to promise me something."
I look at her, and the concern on her face makes my stomach drop.
She pinches her eyebrows together. "I need you to promise you won't hurt yourself. No scratching. No knives. No stupid ideas."
My throat closes. The words scrape on the way out. "I promise."
She doesn't let it go. The SUV pulls into my building's parking garage, and the driver puts the car in park. The driver opens the door, but Demi knocks on the divider window, and it shuts before he can get out.
She orders, "Look at me, Blue."
I turn toward her.
"Promise me again you won't hurt yourself," she demands.
My eyes burn, but I hold her gaze. "I promise I won't hurt myself."
She studies my face, searching for cracks, then nods. "If you break that promise, I'm showing up whether you want me to or not."
A small, broken laugh slips out of me. "I know."
She squeezes my knee gently. "Text me when you're inside."
"I will."
She gets out with me and walks me to the elevator.
The doors slide open, and I step inside, the mirrored walls reflecting how wrecked I look with my swollen eyes, pale skin, and someone who got deserted by their lover.
So this is what it feels like.
When the doors close, I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
The ride up feels longer than usual. Each floor ticks past with a quiet chime that grates on my nerves.
The doors finally open, and I step out, walk down the hallway, and unlock my apartment.
I step inside, locking the door behind me with a firm click.
The silence inside is different. It's smaller and contained. Somehow, it feels safer.
I lean my forehead against the door for a second, then push away and move deeper into the apartment. I get into the bedroom, drop my keys on the dresser, and shrug out of the sweater and leggings. My eyes catch on the bathroom mirror as I pass, and I turn back despite myself.
The marks on my thighs glare back at me, angry and red against my skin. Dried blood has barely thickened. I press my lips together and look away, my chest tightening again.
Red would be disappointed in me.
It's his fault.
Demi's voice echoes in my head, calm and certain.
Give him space.
Let him miss you.
I fill the soaking tub, get in it, and stare at the wall.
Space.
The word rolls around in my mind, sharp and irritating. Space is what he took when he walked out. Space is what left me on the floor, bleeding and shaking. But Demi said it like it meant something else.
Make him miss you.
I picture Red, with his tense shoulders, when he said he loved me, and the way his jaw clenched like it hurt to speak. He didn't leave because he stopped wanting me. He left because he thought he had to.
That thought steadies something inside me.
I stare at the ceiling, hands folded over my stomach. My breathing slows. The panic dulls into focus.
If space makes him miss me, then I can use that.
I get out of the tub, dry off, and go into my closet. I run my fingers along the hanging clothes, stopping on the pieces I know will drive Red insane, then I reorganize my closet so one rack holds them all.
Then, I grab my phone, slide under my sheets, and refrain from texting or calling him.
Instead, I open social media, scrolling without really seeing, then stop. An idea clicks into place, and my pulse tics up.
He thinks leaving keeps him safe.
He thinks distance protects us both.
I smile, vowing to do things differently.
I won't chase him like normal. I won't beg. I won't collapse where he can see it. I'll be fine and look better than fine.
I'll be visible without reaching for him.
I imagine his jaw tightening when he sees me out. Laughing. Alive. Untouchable. I imagine the tension crawling back into his shoulders, the way his eyes darken when he realizes I'm not waiting where he left me.
Jealousy flickers through me, warm and steady.
He doesn't get to leave and keep me frozen in place.
Demi's words replay, softer this time.
Let him miss you.
I decide that's exactly what I'm going to do. And when he does, when it hits him hard enough that staying away hurts worse than the risk, he won't walk out again.
I go into my camera, forgetting they deleted my photos of him. So I pull up his website, copy the photo on it, then all the other pictures of him I can find on the internet, and start a new folder.
Then I get up, put on every single outfit on the rack that's for him, and take suggestive shots of my different body parts in them.
When the time is right, I'm going to have more than enough ammunition to get exactly what I deserve.