22. Chapter 22
Chapter twenty-two
JUDE GRAVES
The room is annoyingly quiet. I haven’t moved from this spot on the floor since Emma and Micah left me.
I’m not ready to lie down yet. I don’t think I could, even if I fucking tried.
The bed feels like weakness right now. Like giving in, or slipping back into whatever version of myself I’ve been drifting in and out of since they pulled me out of that place.
Or maybe I’m just finally here again. Present.
That realization sits heavily in my chest because it’s been days, and most of it didn’t feel real. Like I was watching someone else’s life.
The second night here, I dreamt I was dead.
And the worst part is…it felt quieter than this. It wasn’t all that bad, honestly.
I let out a sigh and sit still for another moment, elbows braced on my knees, staring at nothing. My thoughts don’t line up right. They come in pieces. Some of them are mine. Some of them…not. I don’t think.
And then my gaze drifts to the wooden chair in the corner that Emma has been using during some of her visits.
My jaw tightens as I push myself to my feet.
The movement feels slow after sitting on the floor for god knows how long.
I drag the chair across the floor, the scraping sound of it pissing me off, and position it in the center of the room.
Facing the door. Facing where she stands when she comes in.
My stomach twists at the thought, but I don’t stop. I lower myself into the chair, my hands settling on my thighs as I force myself to stay still. If I’m going to fix this, I have to face it.
I have to face her.
So I do the one thing I spent months learning how not to do. I close my eyes, and I picture her. Not the version my body wants to reject. Not the one tied to pain and wires and commands barked in a language that I can’t fucking unlearn.
I try to picture her. The real her, who spent multiple summers loving me under the Oregon sun.
I see her laughing in my arms as I jumped off our dock into the chilly water.
I see the sunlight catching in her hair while my fingers tangle through it afterward.
Her at my parents’ house, grinning over my burnt pancakes like it’s the best thing she’s ever eaten even if it was fucking diabolical.
Or her father’s smile when I hinted that I’d one day marry her.
Even her wide eyes as she looked up at me when she felt her anxiety coming on strong. She needed me. Wanted me…
My chest tightens.
Hold onto that.
Don’t let it slip.
But it does. I fucking knew it would. Because the second her face sharpens in my mind, something else claws its way in behind it. The chair, restraints, electricity shocking the shit out of me…
I react before I can think to correct it. A violent jolt tears through me, my shoulders locking, my hands clenching so hard my nails bite into my palms. My breath stutters as if I’m bracing for a hit that never comes.
“Fuck—”
My eyes snap open, and I drag in a sharp breath like I’ve been on the verge of drowning.
There’s nothing here. No wires, no voice, and no goddamn pain.
Just this empty room and me. But my heart is pounding like I’m about to die anyway.
I lean forward, elbows braced on my thighs, forcing myself to stay right here.
No running, you fucker. Force her into your veins just like you did the needles.
Again.
I have to do it again.
Because tomorrow, she’s going to walk through that door, and I don’t want to flinch. I don’t want to look at the only woman I’ve ever loved like she’s something that fucking hurts me.
I swallow hard and close my eyes again.
Emma. Just Emma. I rebuild her slowly this time, because if I rush it, I’ll lose it again. Okay.
Breathe.
What about her do I love?
I think of how her voice softens when she says my name. When her lips twitch when she’s trying not to laugh at my dumb shit. Or how she looked at me earlier without fear, even when she had every reason to be scared.
My chest aches.
Hold onto it.
I force it to stay, and for a second…it works.
My shoulders don’t lock. My breathing doesn’t completely fall apart.
There’s still tension, like something wants to react, but it doesn’t hit me the same way.
It’s not gone entirely, but it’s quieter.
My fingers twitch against my thighs, and I focus on that instead of the panic trying to creep back in.
“You’re fine,” I mutter under my breath. “You’re fine. She’s—”
Safe.
She’s safe. She should be safe.
With me.
The thought hurts like hell because I don’t know if it’s true yet.
My jaw tightens as I push through it, forcing the image back into place, forcing myself to sit here and feel it instead of running from it.
I think about her against the wall, looking at me, not afraid or backing down, despite the fact that I was right on the edge of losing control.
She said my name.
Fuck, I love it when she says my name.
Something shifts in my chest, but it’s not sharp or painful this time. No, now it’s just…warm. It spreads slowly, pushing back against the panic and the conditioning. It threads into all of the dark shit that’s happened to me, trying to drag it back to hell where it belongs.
My breath steadies, and I open my eyes. The room around me hasn’t changed, but I feel like I have…even if just a little. I sit there for a long moment, letting my body understand that nothing is happening. That nothing did happen. My hands loosen on my thighs, muscles chilling the fuck out.
Tomorrow, when she walks in, I won’t be blindsided by it. I’ll already be here, facing it, and choosing not to hurt her. My throat tightens as I stare at the door.
“I’ve got you,” I say quietly.
I don’t know if I’m talking to her or to myself. Maybe both. But I mean it. So I’ll sit here all fucking night if I have to.