Chapter 19
THEO
My ex-boyfriend is cradled in my lap, and I have no idea what the fuck is going on.
The moment I’d started to recall what happened to me that night, I realised it wasn’t Bailey who had hurt me.
Small things I’d never let myself think about before crept to the surface, things I hadn’t noticed even as they were happening.
I’d been so out of it between the drugs and fear that I hadn’t paid enough attention to what was happening—which I guess is exactly what Shane had wanted.
I recognised that look in Bailey’s eyes a moment ago. I’ve seen it once before, when we first found the shed in the woods. He’d run from me, fear and desperation pulsing off him in waves. Then when I caught him, he shook like a leaf in my arms until he went deathly still. Just like he is now.
A section of the wall I’d built around my heart cracked seeing him break like that again, and now it feels like something’s trying to crawl back inside.
I know I’m not strong enough to push it out.
Not sure if I even want to, not now I have my hands on him again.
He’s bigger than I remember, but it still feels the same as it did.
He’s still the same, lying in my arms, solid and warm.
I rest my chin on top of his head and squeeze him a little tighter.
My heartbeat hasn’t slowed down since he stopped fighting me.
If anything, it’s getting worse because my gut feeling was right—Bailey had nothing to do with what happened to me, and I’ve despised him for it for years.
Bile rises to my throat, and I swallow it back down.
My thoughts flit between wondering why Shane would have done that to me, and why Bailey can’t remember part of the night.
“Bay?” I call out to him gently, the nickname rolling off my tongue naturally.
I realise I called him that earlier too, the familiarity of it comforting.
I lean around him to see his face. His eyes are closed, eyelashes sweeping down towards the freckles that sprinkle his nose and cheeks.
I gently maneuver one arm around his back and one under his knees, then push myself up off the floor.
My legs shake as though they could give out at any moment.
“Holy shit, you’re heavy, Bay,” I mutter to myself.
“This was a lot easier when we were kids.”
I make my way over to one of the sofas and lower him down, blowing out a breath as I look around the flat.
My eyes go straight to the knife, then back to Bailey.
I lift his hand, seeing a small cut on the tip of his finger, then let it go again, not sure what to think about that.
I pick up the knife, then go to the kitchen and grab the whole knife block.
There’s a cupboard full of random shit, from winter coats to board games.
I shove the knives as far back as I can, burying them amongst the mess.
Whether Bailey just wanted to scare me into leaving, or if he was planning on using the knife to hurt himself, I’m not taking any chances, not with how he was screaming and yelling that he needs to be punished.
I head upstairs to the bathroom, grab the two shavers on the sink, and hide them in another cupboard. It’s enough to settle me slightly. If I fall asleep, there’s nothing he can easily get his hands on. When I leave the bathroom, I come face to face with two doors. One of them is Bailey’s bedroom.
I bite down on my bottom lip, knowing I shouldn’t. He could technically have something dangerous in there, but that’s not the driving factor behind me opening the doors. I need to know more about the man who feels both like a stranger and someone painfully familiar.
Inside the room on the left, everything’s tidy: there’s just a double bed with navy bedsheets that look untouched.
There are no personal items to show if this is Bailey’s or Noah’s room.
I close the door and open the one on my right instead.
I’m immediately hit with a mix of colognes, rumpled charcoal bedsheets on a larger bed, and clothes strewn across the room.
My chest feels tight as I cautiously step inside.
There are pillows with creases and dents on either side of the bed.
Any intention I had of looking for things Bailey could use to harm himself is quickly abandoned.
I pick up two T-shirts that were left on the end of the bed and look at the collars.
One is a medium, the other a small. I scrunch them up, and throw them back.
I’m sure Isla said Bailey and Noah are just friends.
The tightness in my chest won’t go away, and my stomach twists itself into a knot.
I don’t like that I know nothing about the man he’s become, and after everything that’s happened, I realise I didn’t really know the boy he was before.
I leave the bedroom and head back downstairs.
Bailey’s in the same position on the sofa, knees tucked up to his stomach, arm covering his head.
I take his shoes and socks off then grab a blanket, draping it over him as little whimpers fall from his lips.
I collapse on the sofa opposite him, trying to force myself to sleep, but my heart starts thumping against my rib cage again so hard that it hurts.
There’s too much I need to know—to understand what he hid from me the two years we were together, because right now I’m terrified that I missed something big.