9. Chapter 9 #2
Please don’t do this to me. Not after everything.
He closes his eyes, his face contorting in pure pain. His body is shaking from the withdrawals.
I want to cry. To beg. But I’m speechless. Micah’s eyes are wide, and his lips are parted in pure shock. I realize suddenly that Rafe had appeared beside me at some point, lethally still with his gun, watching every movement Jude makes.
But when his eyes open again, his arm drops, and the gun lowers.
Like all strength drains out of him at once.
The gun slips from his hand like he can’t hold the weight of it anymore.
For a second, I think it’s over. But then he kicks it toward me.
It slides across the floor straight at me.
I stumble back as it stops near my feet, my heart slamming so hard I can feel it in my throat.
“Kill me,” he commands, voice flat, eyes dead. But he’s still not looking directly at me.
“No,” I reply quickly.
“Fucking. Kill me. Emma.” He’s staring at the floor, defeated.
“No,” I repeat. “I won’t do that. I love you, Jude.”
“Shut the fuck up,” he groans, running a hand through his hair. “Fuck you. Fuck you for coming.” He shoots a glare at Micah. “Fuck you for not keeping her away. Fuck you for not just giving up on me!” he yells, and I instinctively take a step back. He’s shaking even worse now, spiraling quickly.
Micah moves forward again, wiping blood from his mouth, but Jude doesn’t go after him. He just backs up against the bed, chains dragging, covered in sweat. And when he looks at us again, there’s only unbearable exhaustion.
“Leave,” he says. “I can’t think. I can’t—just leave me alone.”
Silence follows.
Micah doesn’t move. Rafe doesn’t speak.
I take a steadying breath and decide what I’m going to do. I glance at Micah, then at Rafe. “Go,” I whisper.
Micah stiffens. “Emma—”
“Please,” I say again, sharper now.
Rafe exhales once, then pulls Micah back with him toward the door.
His icy gaze clashes with mine, saying, I’m right here if you need me.
The moment it shuts, Jude exhales shakily, relief washing over him.
He sits on the bed, exhaustion tugging him down.
And I just stand there, staring at him, at the gun on the floor between us. At what he almost did.
“Can I sit with you?” I ask softly.
He doesn’t answer. His gaze drifts over me, very briefly. His jaw tightens slightly, and his fingers twitch.
“I won’t touch you,” I add quickly, keeping my voice calm. “I just want to sit. That’s all.”
A long second passes. Then, he nods. But he clamps his hands together in his lap, squeezing them hard enough that his knuckles whiten. He's trying to restrain himself.
Both relief and trepidation twist through me, but I don’t show it.
I just move carefully to the edge of the bed and sit down, leaving several feet of space between us.
One foot is still planted firmly on the ground, in case I need to get out his reach.
Because everything about him feels like his body is constantly wanting to either strike or shove away.
It’s so painfully unlike Jude that I’m having trouble keeping from crying.
But I fold my hands in my own lap to keep them still, and silence stretches between us. It’s not comfortable...but it’s not violent or mean, either.
Then, finally, he breaks the silence. “You shouldn’t be here. You don’t understand.”
“Then help me,” I say, my voice softer now. “Help me to understand.”
A bitter, rough laugh slips out of him. “You’re the problem,” he says, like it’s something he’s been forced to believe. Because he doesn’t say with extreme conviction. More like…hesitation.
My chest tightens, but I don’t look away.
“That’s what he said,” Jude continues, his gaze locking onto mine for a split second before looking away again. “That you were the reason that I kept hurting.”
I inhale slowly, grounding myself. “I know.”
“You don’t,” he snaps immediately. “You don’t know what he did—what he made me do when I thought about you.” He pauses, breathless. “When I…when I looked at your face.”
It feels like I’m being choked all over again, but I hold my ground. “You know that I am not the reason you were hurting, right?”
His expression twists, pain cutting through the anger. His body jerks, like the memory itself is punishing him. “Yeah.”
I don’t move closer, or push. I just sit there with him.
Because that’s what this is going to be.
I can’t fix him immediately, even if I want to more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.
I can only sit here as a woman who loves him and who won’t give up on him.
I hate that he can barely look at me for a few seconds because of what Alexei did to him.
His breathing starts to even out again, slowly, like the worst of this episode is passing.
“Why did you hold the gun to your head, Jude?” I ask, my voice soft.
He’s staring at the bed between us. “I can’t look at your face.
” His throat works as he swallows. “It’s like I hate you, but I don’t.
And I…I don’t trust myself around you right now.
My mind hurts. It fucking hurts. I feel like I can’t control it anymore.
If I can't live a normal life…I don't want to live.”
“I'm sorry,” I whisper. Even if I want to say more, I don’t.
I let out a breath as minutes pass. Or seconds.
I don’t know exactly since time doesn’t feel real in here.
Eventually, I push myself to stand, careful not to startle him.
His gaze flicks back to me, tracking the movement, but he doesn’t react.
“I’ll come back,” I tell him. “Remember, you’re safe. I won’t hurt you. Alexei won’t, either. He’s not here. No one is going to punish you for anything.”
He doesn’t answer. But what he is doing is shaking and sweating. His body has looked like he’s been in pain this entire time, allowing just enough energy to acknowledge us. But I feel like the moment I leave, the withdrawals are going to drag him under again. He's keeping it together for me.
I step back toward the door, my hand finding the handle again. I pause there for just a second, looking at him one more time before I finally slip out of the room. And when the door clicks softly behind me, my hand presses to my sternum.
Calm. I did it. He wasn’t as violent as before. He knows me. He knows Micah. Good.
Micah, Rafe, and Heather are there to greet me immediately, scanning my face and checking how I am processing.
“You okay?” Heather asks, gently grabbing my arms.
“I am,” I say, my voice surprisingly steady.
“I thought he was going to do it,” Micah mutters, holding a tissue to his split lip. His eyes are red, like he was out here crying. “I thought I was about to watch my best friend splatter his fucking brains all over the wall.” Fresh tears form in his eyes after saying it out loud.
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I did, too.”
“He let you sit on the bed. That’s progress,” Heather adds kindly. “He seems more present. Which is better than when he saw you the other night, when he didn't even really remember you.”
“Yeah,” I sigh, dragging a hand through my hair as I try to sort my thoughts.
“It’s…it’s conditioning,” I say quietly.
“Not memory loss. Not really. He still knows who I am. He remembers me. But whatever Alexei did…he rewired the way his brain reacts to me.” I clear my throat.
“If I was used during the torture—my face, my voice, anything that reminded him of me—then his body doesn’t register me as safe anymore.
It registers me as something that hurts. ”
I shake my head, trying to make sense of it.
“So now it’s all crossed,” I continue, my voice softer.
“The memories are still there, but the feelings attached to them aren’t right.
Love doesn’t feel like love to him right now.
It feels like panic. Or pain. Or…nothing at all.
” My chest tightens. “And the only way to fix that is to slowly teach his brain something different. Over and over again. Until it stops expecting the pain associated with his punishment when he sees me.”
“Hopefully, he will,” Micah says, pulling me into a hug. “We just have to keep on him.”
“Slow counter-conditioning,” Rafe adds. “I told you before this won’t be easy. I’ve watched people lose their minds and not come back at all. I do think that this—” he nods toward Jude’s door. “—is salvageable, though.”
I draw in a shaky breath, my eyes burning. “I have to believe…” My voice falters, and I swallow hard before forcing the words out. “I have to believe that loving him the way I did mattered…” My vision blurs completely. “Even if I’m the only one left remembering how it felt.”