Chapter Seventeen
Leaning one-handed on my desk, because it’s the only thing keeping me upright, my phone is pressed against my ear as it rings out for the fifth time.
I know she’s not picking up, since I’m currently watching her through the webcam, yet I forcefully press redial and try again.
Meg’s been standing against the wall in a daze, a wealth of emotion filtering across her face.
She’s filthy, muddied from practice in her lacrosse jersey and skort.
Her hair is a mess, hardly clinging onto its ponytail, but that’s because Everest fucking Calloway had his hands raking through it. I’ll be dealing with him later.
Gradually, Meg’s back slides down the wall until she’s hunched on the floor. Beside her, the discarded towel and clothes wait next to the gym bag her phone is trying to vibrate its way free from. I hit redial again.
Dragging her focus across the carpet, she reaches out and plucks the phone from the side pocket.
Finally, I can breathe a sigh of relief.
Opening my mouth to greet her as casually as my tightened chest will allow, the tune in my ear is cut short.
I pull the phone away, staring at it. Within the next second, a message comes through.
Meg: Sorry, held up at practice. I’m tired, going straight to bed. Talk later.
I step back, dropping onto my mattress with a defeated flop. The bedframe groans, whilst my brain refuses to process what I’m seeing. I can practically feel her slipping away, but what did I expect? That our video games and text messages would be enough for her? Maybe na?vely I did.
Yet, I can’t take my eyes off the computer screen. I can’t seem to give her the space she clearly needs.
Meg sits with her knees drawn up, her forearms draped over them, and head tipped back for a long while. Her chest rises and falls unevenly, breath hitching every now and then. She looks wrecked, despite the lack of tears or outward emotion.
I knew going back to the academy was going to be difficult for her, but I thought we had more than a couple of days before she started becoming distant from me.
This morning, I was sending her a breakfast box and flowers.
This evening, she’s kissing someone else and withdrawing from me.
I wasn’t prepared for how much that would hurt, but it’s my own fault. I shouldn’t have been watching.
My thumbs hang over the phone, before I settle on a reply that is simple, but no less needy.
Thi: Take your time. I’ll be here when you’re ready.
Lying back, I clutch my phone to my chest, as if loosening my grip will mean losing the fragile connection I have left to her. The only sound comes from the ceiling fan gently thundering above, since I had the good sense to switch off Meg’s audio when Everest was devouring her face.
I peer back towards the screen a few times, unable to convince myself to relax. At one point, Meg scrubs a hand down her face and pushes to her feet, taking her towel with a defeated slump to her shoulders as she leaves to shower.
The next time I check, she’s back, pulling an oversized T-shirt on, her hair curling from the water dripping through it.
She crawls into bed without turning off the light, rolling onto her side and tucking her hands under her pillow.
Within minutes, her breathing evens out, exhaustion finally dragging her under.
I don’t move. I don’t blink. I just watch, my reflection faint in the darkened glass of the monitor, eyes sunken and mouth set in a hard line.
Throwing my arm over my eyes, I finally allow myself to settle.
What a mistake that was. The thoughts racing around my head seem to pick up speed, opinions creeping out of the shadows to toy with me.
I know she’s strong beyond belief, but she’s also struggling with vulnerabilities that remain hidden from the world.
I was a fool to think that being here for her virtually counted for something real.
That she wouldn’t seek out someone who can hold her, possess her, fuck her, even if her current choice in men is questionable.
Maybe if she had chosen someone worthy of her, I’d be able to let go.
But as soon as I think about it, I scoff.
There’s no one worthy of her, not even me.
“I should’ve told her,” I murmur to the empty room. Should’ve told her what she is to me. Told her that every laugh, every late-night gaming, every stupid meme we’ve shared has mattered more than I let on.
Eventually, I blindly reach out to place my phone screen-down onto my bedside table. With it, the last illusion of connection I thought we had withers. I lay there for a long while after, chest aching with everything I didn’t say and everything I might already be too late to claim.
Behind closed eyes, I see it all played back on replay.
Her fist gripping Everest’s hoodie, the urgency in her body language, the way she leaned into him like she needed the contact to stay upright.
Desperation overriding pride, logic succumbing to base need.
It plays over and over until sleep finally bleeds in, just as heavy and unforgiving as the clench within my ribs.
I pass between real scenarios and those my mind conjures to torment me.
Ones where Meg is in my room, in my bed, but not with me.
That sleazy rich kid has his hands all over her, reeking of privilege.
I try to move, determined to break them apart, except I hit an invisible wall.
Slamming my fists on it, I yell and holler, but they can’t hear me.
Looking around, encompassed by the darkness, I realize a beat too late that I’m trapped inside my computer.
Imprisoned and being forced to watch Everest roll on top of her, his mouth dragging over her throat and lower.
I jolt at the sound of aggressive buzzing. Too insistent to be the ceiling fan.
In the recesses of my mind, something registers. I fumble for my phone on instinct alone, fingers clumsily dragging it from the nightstand and answering without checking the screen.
“No, I don’t need to upgrade my broadband,” I ramble, until labored breathing on the other end clears the rest of my drowsiness.
“Wait, Meg?” Her name is barely out of my mouth when something ragged, broken and wet meets my ear.
Not words. Just breath tearing in and out of her lungs like she’s drowning on dry land.
“Thi—Thiago,” she sobs, my name mangled around a hiccupping gasp. “I—I can’t—I can’t—”
I’m upright in an instant, panic detonating through me so hard that my vision sparks. My free hand grabs for my desk as I bolt out of bed, my leather gaming chair screeching as it skids back. Moving the mouse in a rough shake, the screen flares to life, and there she is. Oh, thank God.
Meg is sitting bolt upright in bed, sheets tangled around her legs, oversized T-shirt twisted and damp with sweat.
Her brunette hair is plastered to her cheeks and neck, curls wild and frizzed, eyes blown wide and glassy with terror.
Her hands are fisted in the bedding like it’s the only thing tethering her to the present, knuckles white and shoulders hunched as if she’s bracing for a blow that never comes.
She looks small, broken, and terrified in a way that makes something primal snarl inside me.
But at least she’s alone.
Relief hits so hard it almost buckles me, my knees locking as I drop into my chair, my heart trying to burst its way free of my chest. “Meg, hey. Hey, I’m here.
It’s okay. I’ve got you,” I say quickly, my voice already fraying at the edges.
Then, I remember I’m not supposed to have eyes on her in her private space.
“Talk to me. What’s wrong? Are you hurt? ”
“No. No, I…I just, I thought,” she breaks off with a high-pitched cry, her breath hitching so violently I swear I feel it in my own throat.
“I thought I was back there. I couldn’t move.
I could smell it, Thi, I could smell him, I—” Her words collapse into sobbing again the sound so raw it’s like she’s being ripped wide open.
Beyond her, I can make out the repetitive thump of bass passing through her walls.
At least she doesn’t have to worry about eavesdropping.
“It was so real,” she whispers, voice shaking and gaze flicking around wildly. “I couldn’t wake up. I tried to scream and nothing came out and I thought…I thought I was never going to get out again.”
“Meg,” I command her attention gently. “I need you to breathe with me. Just for a second. Can you do that?”
“I—I don’t know,” she gasps. “I can’t—I feel like I’m going to—”
“You’re not there,” I cut in quickly. “You’ve done this before.
You’re stronger than this. Just focus on my voice, okay?
Remember how the clinic taught you. In through your nose for three.
Count with me.” I exaggerate my own breath, drawing it in deep even though my chest feels like it’s wrapped in wire.
“One… two… three. Hold it. Now out. One… two… three… four…five.”
Meg tries to follow, her inhale stuttering, breaking halfway through, but she tries again as I continue counting.
On the third round, her shoulders drop a fraction.
On the fifth, her hands unclench from the sheets and curl into the hem of her shirt instead.
It’s not much, but it’s something, and I cling to it like a lifeline.
“That’s it,” I whisper. “You’re doing it. Stay with me. Look around your room. Tell me five things you can see.” Her eyes flick around, unfocused at first.
“My… my lamp,” she says shakily. “The flowers. My backpack. The window. Your… your stupid sticker on my monitor.” Despite everything, a weak laugh cracks out of her, immediately dissolving into another sob. My throat tightens painfully. Fuck, I wish I was there with her.
“Good,” I lick my lips. “Perfect. Now, four things you can feel.”
“The sheets,” Meg plays along, allowing me to distract her. “They’re cold. The floor under my feet. My heart. It’s… It’s beating too fast.” I watch her hand lift to press against her chest, and my head tips towards the screen.
“I know,” I tell her. “Mine too. I’m right there with you. Okay, now three things you can hear.” We go on like that, the panic slowly descending from Meg’s voice until she’s somewhat coherent.
She keeps apologizing, which nearly breaks me, keeps saying she didn’t mean to wake me, didn’t want to be a burden, didn’t know who else to call. Every time, I shut it down immediately.
“You call me. Every. Time. You hear me? I’m always here on the other end of the phone.”
“Okay,” Meg agrees. Eventually, she curls onto her side again, clutching the pillow to her chest, her eyes still glossy but no longer frantic.
Exhaustion drags at her features, the adrenaline ebbing and leaving her wrung out.
I watch her through the screen, afraid to blink in case she shatters again.
“Can you stay on the line whilst I sleep?” I bite down on my fist, my chest aching so fiercely that it’s almost unbearable.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I reassure. She nods, a small, trusting motion that she doesn’t know I can see, and her eyes fall closed again. This time, her breathing evens out easily, slipping into a tired, fragile rhythm as she drifts back to sleep.
As promised, I don’t move. I don’t hang up.
I sit there in the dim glow of my screen, phone pressed to my ear, watching over her like it’s the only thing I know how to do.
I feel helpless in a hundred ways. Unable to hold her, to protect her, to take the nightmares away, but beneath all of that, something steadier takes root.
She called me. She called me. When she was at her worst, when terror had its hands around her throat, I was who she reached out for. That means more to me than I can put into words. So I stay. I listen to her breathe. And I keep my promise.