45. Lilith
CHAPTER FORTY FIVE
I sat on the floor, back hunched, arms draped over my knees, fingers locked in a white- knuckled grip. My breath came too fast, too shallow, scorching my lungs.
In for four. Hold for four. Out for four.
In for four. Hold for four. Out for four.
In for four. Hold for four. Out for four.
The elevator doors slid open with a quiet chime.
Silas stepped out, his attention locking onto me straight away. “Lilith?”
Finn followed, taking one look at me before letting out a low whistle. “You look like you just crawled out of the underworld.”
I didn’t react. Couldn’t.
Silas did.
“Shut the fuck up, Finn.”
I must have looked ridiculous. Sat there, curled in, breathing too fast, hair a mess from pulling at it.
Finn’s voice lowered. “Oh, shit. Should I—?”
“Go,” Silas snapped.
He hesitated for a second, his mouth parting like he wanted to say something, but he nodded once and stepped back toward the elevator, leaving us alone.
Silas stepped forward, slow and careful. “What happened, sweetheart?”
He crouched beside me, and I flinched. Hard.
He stilled instantly, hands flexing at his sides, jaw clenching. “Lilith. Breathe.”
I shook my head. I couldn’t. I was drowning in it, my own thoughts spiralling so fast they felt like a noose, tightening, constricting, suffocating—
“Okay,” he soothed. “Let’s do what Dr. Hayes said. Hold your locket, and breathe through it, sweetheart. You’ve got this.”
I shook my head harder, squeezing my eyes shut. “I can’t .”
“You can. Look at me.”
I did. My eyes locked onto his.
My fingers trembled as I reached for my locket, pressing it between my thumb and forefinger, so tight it hurt.
His fingers curled around my wrist. His touch was gentle, featherlight. “You’re bleeding.”
I hadn’t even noticed the pain. Not until now. Not until I saw what he saw—crescent shaped wounds along my palms, where my nails had dug too deep.
“Shit,” he whispered as he kneeled, pulling me closer without pulling me apart, hands cradling mine like they were delicate and breakable. “Sweetheart. What did you do?”
I didn’t have an answer. I didn’t know. I’d just wanted it to stop. The noise, the fear, the choking weight in my ribs. “I—” my voice cracked. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t. Don’t apologise.” His breath hitched, and one hand came up to cup the side of my face, his thumb sweeping slow and steady over my cheek.
He pulled me into him, warm and solid, his grip tightening as my forehead pressed into his chest. “I’ve got you. You need to come with me, okay?”
I nodded.
He let me push up off him, his hands steadying me, giving me space but not letting go completely. Then he led me to the kitchen.
The counter was cool against my thighs as he lifted me onto it, his hands lingering at my side for a second before he stepped away.
He moved quickly. Cabinet door. Hinge creak. The quiet thunk of the first aid kit hitting the counter. He exhaled, tilting his head slightly, like he was trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Just like I was.
“Let me take care of you,” he said.
He popped open the kit, pulling out antiseptic and gauze. I stared at his hands. They never shook, never hesitated. He made everything feel so much smaller, so much easier to survive.
I flinched, sucking in a breath.
His hands froze. His head snapped up, eyes flicking to my face, then back down to my hand where he’d just pressed the antiseptic-soaked cloth to my palm. “Shit. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I should’ve—”
“It’s fine,” I whispered.
He was more careful then, softer, slower. “What happened?”
I swallowed, staring at my hands. My pulse thudded at the base of my throat, thick and heavy. “Dr. Hayes.”
He stilled, brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”
The air was stu ck in my lungs. I wanted to say it without feeling like I was going to rip at the seams. “I don’t want to do therapy anymore.”
His hands paused over mine, the bandage halfway wrapped around my palm. “Why?”
My throat tightened, body already bracing for the words.
“Because it hurts too much. She wanted to talk about my nightmares,” I forced out. “I started telling her and I just—” I sighed, frustrated with myself, shaking my head. “I freaked the fuck out, it was too much. I can’t do it anymore, Silas. It hurts so—”
The last word caught, splintering. I clenched my jaw, hating the way my voice shook, hating the way my hands wouldn’t stop trembling even in his.
“No,” he said.
I blinked. What? “Silas—”
“No.” His eyes burned into mine, searching. “You can’t give up because it hurts.”
My shoulders curled in, the weight of it pressing into my ribs, crushing. “I don’t know how to carry on.”
His fingers tightened slightly, his forehead lowering until it almost touched mine.
“You don’t have to do it alone. Let me carry some of it.
Hell, load it onto me. Break my back with it.
I’ll talk to her. I want you to feel better.
Therapy will help in the long run, but I don’t want you being pushed too soon.
” He swallowed hard, eyes never leaving mine.
“You’re not breaking even more. I won’t let that happen. ”
He carried on wrapping my palms. “I promise. I’ll do everything in my power to help as best as I can. Okay?”
I nodded. It was all I could manage.
“What can I do for you right now?” he asked.
“I need to get out of here,” I admitted. “And I don’t mean to the garden.”
He didn’t say anything. Just waited, body set like stone, eyes locked onto mine.
“It’s nice, but it’s not real.” I sighed.
His jaw flexed.
“I don’t want to go alone,” I continued. “I know Clark wouldn’t actually do anything if he found me. I know that. But the thought of him being out there, of—” my breath hitched. “I just don’t want to be by myself. I want you with me.”
He didn’t answer right away. Didn’t agree. Didn’t refuse. Just closed the first aid box with a quiet click, exhaled through his nose, and dragged a hand across his jaw. “Okay.”
I blinked. The tension inside me loosened, just a fraction. “Okay?” I echoed, my voice small.
“Yes.”
Relief crashed into me so fast it nearly stole my breath.
And then he ruined it. “Not today, though.”
The relief died instantly, flashing to frustration. “Why?”
“Because you ’re hurting.”
I wanted to fight it, to push back, tell him I was fine—but I wasn’t fine, and we both knew it.
“We aren’t going out today. We can go out tomorrow. Right now, I need to feed you, and you need to rest. And I need to take you to bed so I can hold you and you can sleep this off.”
Something cracked inside me.
I was getting out of here.
With him by my side.
God, I might even smile at a stranger to commemorate the occasion.
Hell, I might even kiss the concrete.