Chapter 10
EMILY
Imade it to the bathroom on autopilot, my hands fumbling with buttons and zippers. The shower took three tries to get the temperature right because my fingers wouldn’t cooperate, but finally hot water poured from the showerhead.
The stinging heat hit my skin and something in my chest loosened. Just a fraction. Just enough that I could pull in a full breath without feeling like I was drowning.
I stood there, letting the water beat down on my shoulders, my back, my face. Washing away the tears and the snot and the humiliation. The nausea that had been churning in my stomach since that shed door had slammed shut finally started to ease.
My mind was still spinning, but slower now.
Less frantic. The violent shaking had stopped at some point in Cam’s arms; the crying had tapered off to hiccups and then nothing.
My throat felt raw and I could feel a headache brewing, but now it was just..
. quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet where thoughts started creeping back in.
Thoughts about what had just happened.
About how I’d completely fallen apart in front of my neighbor.
Oh god. He must think I was completely unhinged. And he’d be right. I was a fucking loon.
But he didn’t push you away.
I straightened, water streaming down my face.
He hadn’t pushed me away. Hadn’t told me to get it together. Hadn’t acted like I was crazy or dramatic or too much.
He’d just... held me.
The memory of it washed over me now that I was calm enough to process it.
The way his arms had come around me without hesitation.
How one hand had moved in slow circles on my back while the other had cupped my head, fingers tangling in my hair.
The low rumble of his voice telling me to breathe, telling me I was okay, telling me he had me.
I’d felt… safe.
The realization hit me like a physical thing. I’d been locked in that shed, drowning in panic and memories I couldn’t control, and the second his arms closed around me, I’d felt safe.
What the fuck was I supposed to do with that information?
I mean, I’d never be able to look my neighbor in the eyes again, but that was okay, wasn’t it?
What would I even say to him, anyway? Thanks for witnessing my complete mental breakdown? Sorry I used you as a human tissue? Appreciate you not calling for professional help?
So instead, I started planning my avoidance strategy. I’d check for his truck before I left the house. Take the long way to my car. Maybe invest in some good curtains so I wouldn’t accidentally make eye contact through a window.
Perfect. Totally normal. Absolutely the behavior of a well-adjusted adult.
God, I fucking hated that I did this. That I turned everything into a joke before anyone else could. Made myself small and silly and unthreatening because that was easier than sitting with the weight of it all.
I pressed my palms against my eyes, feeling the headache that had been threatening finally settle in behind my temples.
“Fuck.”
Switching the tap off, I shoved the shower door open and grabbed my towel, wrapping it around myself.
I needed to get dressed. Needed to do something normal. Needed to pretend I was a functional human being who hadn’t just had a complete meltdown in a garden shed.
I walked to my bedroom on rubbery legs. The towel was soft against my skin, still warm from hanging on the heated rail. My hair dripped water down my back.
I caught sight of myself in the full-length mirror by my closet and stopped.
For a long moment, I just stood there, looking at my reflection. At the girl with the wet hair and the exhausted eyes and the too-pale face.
Without conscious thought, my hand moved to the top of the towel where I’d tucked it closed. My fingers hesitated there, then dragging in a deep breath, I pulled it loose and dropped the towel to the floor.
I stared at myself for the longest time, my eyes tracing the ugly patterns I’d drawn on myself.
The scars looked the same as they always did.
Pale lines across my abdomen, my breasts, some thin and straight, others thicker where the cuts had been deeper.
Each one was a reminder of how badly I’d wanted to disappear.
How small I’d felt. How trapped. How convinced I’d been that I was unworthy of anything good.
Even though I desperately wanted to turn away, I made myself keep looking. At the scars that had shaped so much of my life. At the body I’d learned to keep hidden. At the girl who was so fucking tired of being scared.
And I thought of Cam. How he’d held me today. Had seen me completely shatter and hadn’t run. Hadn’t judged. Had just made me feel safe in a moment when nothing else felt safe.
But he hadn’t seen these.
I pressed my palm flat against my stomach, covering the worst of the scarring. Felt the familiar shame settle back into my bones.
I was so tired. Tired of carrying this, of being afraid, of keeping everyone at arm’s length because I couldn’t stand the thought of them seeing what I’d done to myself.
But I didn’t know how to be anything else.
With my head pounding, I turned away from the mirror.
My bed looked like the most appealing thing in the world, so I crawled under the covers and curled up on my side, pulling my knees to my chest.
Tomorrow I’d figure out how to face Cam. Tomorrow I’d deal with whatever this was. Tomorrow I’d try to be a person who had their shit together.
But right now, I just needed to sleep.