Chapter 19 #2
I let my fingers trail down the curve of her spine, tugging her gently back into me, guiding her into my lap. She settles with her wrists behind her, her chest pressing into mine.
“You still trust me?” I ask against her neck.
“Yes.”
I drag the rope between my fingers, I make her feel it. The restraint. The surrender. The fact that no matter how wild she gets with Carter, how soft she gets between the both of us—I’m the one who brings her stillness. She tucks her head under my chin. “You okay?”
“Better than okay,” she whispers. “I feel… emptied. Full. I don’t know.”
“You don’t have to explain it.”
Her lips find my throat. “But I like that you get it.”
I exhale into her hair. “I always will. I listen. I learn. You tell me what you like, and I’ll give it to you. Every time.”
The moment is shattered when the door swings open, and Carter pauses in the doorway. His eyes catch the slight rope marks on her wrists first, then flick to me, slow and calculating. “Uh… everything okay?” he asks, setting his glass down, “Was that from…?”
I grit my teeth, always interrupts at the worst possible times, never missing a chance to barge in when he shouldn’t. I glance at her and I know it’s fine. She’s out of that head space now, safe and steady.
I let the annoyance slide. Everything else can wait, that’s all that matters.
I start untying the rope slowly, letting the tension in the room ease. “Yeah,” I say, voice low. “From me.”
Haven leans back into me just slightly, giving Carter a look that’s calm. “Really,” she adds, “I’m more than okay.”
Carter exhales, shaking his head, clearly reassured but still a little wide-eyed. I smirk, finishing the last knot, keeping my focus on her.
“Does that… hurt?”
“No,” Haven says gently. “It feels grounding. Controlled. Safe.”
“I guess I just don’t get it. I mean, I’m not judging, I just… it doesn’t really do anything for me.”
“You haven’t tried it.”
Haven laughs softly, crossing the room to press a kiss to Carter’s cheek. “You like different things, baby. That’s okay.”
Carter wraps an arm around her waist, but he’s still looking at me. “You just keep rope in your hoodie?”
I shrug. “Could’ve been worse. Could’ve been a knife.”
His eyes go wide. Haven chokes on her laugh
I grin. “I’m kidding,”. I’m not.
Carter frowns. “You better be.”
Haven smooths her hands over both our shoulders. “We’ll take baby steps with him,” she teases, tilting her head at me. “Open him up slow.”
“Somnophilia wasn’t that slow,” I remind her, just to watch the way Carter blushes.
He pulls her closer, and I lean back to give them the moment, she turns and catches my hand too.
“Both of you. Bed. Now. No arguing.”
I arch a brow.
She slips on one of my oversized tees, the sleeves hanging past her elbows, and I can’t help the small smirk.
We brush our teeth together and climb into bed. She’s curled up, her hand on Carter’s chest and her leg tangled with mine. I can’t stop watching her. Carter’s already half-asleep. He’s soft like that, easy with his peace, generous with his warmth.
I watch like I’m waiting for the world to shift.
She presses closer to me. “Still awake?” she mumbles.
“Yeah.”
“Good.” Her hand finds mine under the covers. “Don’t leave yet. I know you do sometimes after I fall asleep.”
I don’t. I won’t. Not for anything.
I wake hours later, chest tight and stomach twisting in ways I’ve buried for years. The soft sound of their breathing fills the room, steady and unbothered, and I… can’t stand it. Not tonight. Every little detail presses against something raw inside me.
I can feel my pulse hammering, thoughts spinning faster than I can catch them. Why now? Why tonight? The weight of her trust, their closeness, my own goddamn twin, the rules I’ve always followed, crashes down.
My shoulders hunch, my hands twitch, and I feel that tight, hot knot of panic climbing my throat.
I promised. I wouldn’t leave. Not for anything.
I move quietly, careful not to wake either of them, and slide off the bed. My muscles scream with tension, but I make it to the mini couch tucked in the corner. It’s not much, but it’s enough for me to collapse, my arms wrapped around myself.
I watch them from the dim light, I should feel comforted.
I want to feel comforted. But instead it’s a punch to the gut.
They have everything. They have peace. And I…
don’t. I have walls. Big, sharp ones. Now, here I am, chest tight, stomach twisting, feeling every crack in those walls that I keep carefully plastered over.
I stand up, counting the breaths that don’t come evenly, pacing back and forth. I can feel my heartbeat in my throat, heavy and insistent, like it wants to push out of my chest.
I hate it. Hate that it always comes back, uninvited. Hate that no one will ever really see it my weakness and how carefully I’ve masked it for years.
I sit back down and bury my face in the crook of my arm, swallowing the tightening in my throat. I hate how much it stings, how jealous I feel and how guilty it makes me. I hate that I’m shaking, that the quietness of the room isn’t soothing but amplifying every shadow in my mind.
But I promised.
Slowly, bit by bit, the panic loosens just enough that exhaustion drags at me.
I let the weight of the night press me down, let my muscles stop trembling, let my breath find a rhythm again. The couch is hard and too small, but it doesn’t matter.
Eventually, the edges of my mind blur, the anxiety dulls, and sleep claims me, one shallow, careful breath at a time.