35. Silas
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
“ I just don’t understand,” I said to Dr. Hayes as I walked her towards the kitchen island. “She’s been talking to Evelyn—her mom? In her reflection?”
“That can sometimes happen,” she said. “She’s been off her medication, sustained an attack, and suffered a head injury.
It could be a withdrawal symptom, a response to the physical or mental trauma, or a combination of all three.
I can only access a brief summary of her records so quickly.
I won’t know much until I gain full access at my office. ”
I gritted my teeth. The uncertainty grated at me, like an itch I couldn’t scratch. I needed to know. Needed to fix it.
“What can I do to help her?”
She hesitated, then gave me a look—one that told me I wasn’t going to like her answer.
“Nothing, really,” she admitted. “From the medication she’s on, it seems like she has complex post-traumatic stress disorder.
And that isn’t from the attack.” She paused for a second, glancing back over to Lilith before saying, “She’s been on her medication for nine years.
It goes much deeper than what’s recently happened. Just… don’t force anything, okay?”
Nine years.
This wasn’t new for her. She’d lived with this—whatever this was—for nearly a decade. And I hadn’t known. I hadn’t even had a clue. Or had I? There must have been some kind of sign I’d overlooked. Something I’d missed.
I took in a heavy lungful of oxygen, steadying myself, then nodded. “Okay,” I said quietly. “Thank you.”
She studied me for a moment longer before nodding in return, then turned to sort through a stack of paperwork she needed to process Lilith’s prescripti on.
“Are you looking after yourself, Mr. Graves?” she asked as she passed me the stack of papers. “This must be hard on you too. Is there anyone here for you?”
I tucked the sheets under my arm and led her to the elevator. “I’ll be fine.”
The second the doors shut behind her, I took a deep breath, steadying myself before turning back to Lilith.
She was still on the couch, staring blankly at her own legs, completely still. Not absent, not asleep—just gone.
Dissociation. That’s what Dr. Hayes had called it. Her mind protecting itself in the only way it knew how. I felt stupid for not recognising it sooner. How had I not seen it? Had this happened in front of me before?
I tried to think back.
The gala.
She’d been quiet. Withdrawn. I put it down to what had just happened between her and Clark, or that she was uncomfortable around a stranger. What if she’d been slipping away then? Had I just stood there, oblivious while she disappeared into herself?
Something in my chest tightened as I crossed the room, lowering myself onto the couch beside her. Close, but not too close.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?” I asked softly.
She made a quiet sound in the back of her throat. A hum— yes .
Not much of an answer, but I’d take it.
“Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you,” she murmured.
I nodded, rubbing a hand across my jaw. “I’ll get your prescription picked up in a few hours.”
Another hum.
I sat back, letting the silence between us as I watched her. Took her in.
The big, stitched gash on her forehead. The deep purple bruising around her eyes, dark and swollen, stark against her pale skin.
And that was just what I could see. I had no idea how she looked under my clothes.
Under the pair of my shorts that hung on her frame, under my T-shirt that draped over her shoulders, swallowing her whole.
It should’ve been something I liked, something that made me feel good, seeing her wrapped up in my things.
But right now, all it did was make my stomach twist.
She was only wearing them because she couldn’t go home. She was like this because of me.
Guilt sat in my gut like a stone. Heavy. Unshakeable.
This was all because of me.
She’d been hurt because of me.
And now, I couldn’t fix her.
I let out a slow breath, scrubbing a hand down my face. My body ached, exhaustion creeping into my bones. I hadn’t slept—not really. I’d barely eaten either. Only when I’d managed to get her to eat, and even then, it wasn’t much.
She shifted beside me. For a second, I thought she was going to speak. Instead, she moved, pushing herself up from the couch with a hiss and a grimace.
“I’m going to bed,” she said softly.
The second the bedroom door shut behind her, my eyes burned.
I’d cried more times this week than I could count. Silent, helpless tears in the dark. Angrier ones behind locked doors. Some I hadn’t even realised were coming until it was too late.
I forced a deep breath. I hadn’t left the penthouse all week. Obviously. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I’d texted Finn, told him I was sick, some bullshit excuse about being knocked out with a fever. He hadn’t questioned it—just told me to let him know when I was feeling human again.
And now?
Now I was sitting in my own home, staring at the closed door where Lilith was sleeping, with no idea what I was supposed to do.
The pressure in my chest started slow. A creeping, constricting tightness that I tried to breathe through, tried to shake off.
But I couldn’t stop picturing her curled in on herself, bloodied, damaged.
The blood— fuck, the blood— staining her fingers, smeared along the concrete, glistening under the moonlight.
I gripped the edge of the couch, fingers digging in like it was the only thing keeping me here, keeping me grounded, keeping me from falling apart entirely.
Breathe.
I couldn’t.
Fuck, I’d done this.
A ragged, fractured sound escaped my throat. I clenched my fists, squeezing my eyes shut.
Breathe.
I shot up from the couch so fast my vision blurred, pulse hammering against my ribs, breath coming too shallow, too fast.
I needed to move. Pacing. I could do that.
My hands shook as I dragged them through my hair, fingers tangling in the strands, gripping hard like that might ground me, like it might stop the rush of images slamming into my skull over and over again.
The concrete. The blood. The bruises. The emptiness in her eyes.
I wiped at my face, but it was useless. The tears came hot and unrelenting, slipping down my cheeks before I could stop them.
I hadn’ t cried this much in years. Hell, maybe not even back then. Not even when—
I pressed the back of my fist against my mouth, my shoulders shaking, body betraying me. I kept pacing, back and forth, back and forth, because stopping meant feeling it fully, and I couldn’t.
I couldn’t.
I couldn’t.
My heart was pounding so fast, too fast, slamming against my ribs like it was trying to break free.
Is this what a heart attack feels like?
I gasped, but the air barely made it in. My arms were numb. My legs unsteady. I was going to die. Right there, in my own living room, while Lilith slept in my bed, falling apart because of me .
My hands shook as I yanked my phone from my pocket, nearly dropping it as I fumbled to unlock it.
I stared at Finn’s name, thumb twitching over his number. I didn’t want to call him. But I had to. Because I couldn’t do this.
The phone barely rang twice before he picked up. “Dude! You’re alive! Not succumbed to the plague yet?”
“I—” my voice cracked. I swallowed, tried again. “I need you to come over. Please.”
Silence. Just for a second.
“I’m on my way.”
My head hung heavy in my hands, elbows digging into the kitchen island so hard they ached. My weight pressed into it, arms bracing against the cold marble as I tried to keep myself upright. My eyes were raw and burning, swollen from wiping them too many times.
Hold it together. Just hold it together.
The soft mechanical chime of the elevator rung through the penthouse.
I didn’t move.
Not when the doors slid open. Not when quick, urgent footsteps pounded across the hardwood floor.
Finn was panting like he’d run here. Like he felt whatever was breaking inside me and couldn’t waste a second getting to me.
I looked up at him. His tie was loosened, hanging crooked, the knot a tangled mess. His hair stuck up at odd angles, like he’d dragged his hands through it over and over again. His gaze moved over me, scanning every inch.
“Jesus, man. What the hell happened?” He crossed the space between us, hands flexing at his sides.
My breath hitched hard, the sound ugly and ragged as the tears came again. I covered my face, pressing my palms hard against my eyes like that could somehow stop the flood.
“Shit.” Finn said as he wrapped his arms around me, like he was holding me together by sheer force alone. My chest caved in on itself as the sobs broke free, louder than I wanted. I clenched my fists into his shirt, gripping like it was the only solid thing in the room.
“It’s okay,” he murmured. “It’s okay. I’m here. Breathe.”
I tried. I really fucking tried.
He didn’t move, didn’t pull away, just stood there, holding me through it, letting me break until I wrung out, empty and drained.
He loosened his hold, stepping back enough to give me space, watching me carefully. “Sit down.”
I didn’t argue, just let go of his shirt, hands falling limp at my sides as I sank onto one of the stools. My elbows braced against the marble, head hanging low as I focused on the simple, brutal task of breathing.
He moved around the kitchen, the sound of the coffee grinder and the quiet drip of the machine starting up filling the silence.
A few minutes later, a mug clinked down in front of me, and I wrapped my hands around it, letting the heat seep into my palms. The ache rose higher than last time, the words tangling around my ribs, but I forced them out. “It happened again.”
His brows knit together as he sat next to me and placed his mug down carefully. “What do you mean? What happened again?”
I didn’t even know what to say. I didn’t even know where to start. The only word that came out was her name. “Lilith.”
His brows furrowed deeper. “Lilith? What does that mean?”
I stayed silent, fingers tightening around the coffee mug, blood rushing through my ears.