Chapter 7
I haven't slept properly in nearly a week.
Not in any real way.
Just drifting in and out of something that barely counts as rest before Ava wakes again, or I wake first, already braced for her to cry.
Tonight is worse.
Ava has been screaming for what feels like hours.
Not the usual tired fussing that eventually settles. This is full-bodied, red-faced, breathless crying that doesn't seem to end, no matter what I try.
Bottle. Rocking. Walking. Dummy. White noise. Nothing works.
My arms ache from holding her.
My head aches from everything else.
"Please," I whisper into her hair as I pace the small apartment again. "Please, sweetheart. I know. I know."
But I don't know anymore.
My movements are slow now, heavy, like my body is running out of fuel. The room feels too bright even though it's nearly midnight. Too loud even when it's silent except for her crying.
I blink hard, trying to focus, but everything keeps blurring at the edges.
Another knock hits the door.
I freeze.
Ava's cries don't stop. They just cut through me more sharply.
The knock comes again, softer this time.
"Chloe?"
Mason.
Something in my chest loosens so fast it almost hurts.
I don't even realise how tightly I've been holding my breath until I let it go.
I open the door just enough to see him.
He looks like he's been half-asleep-grey hoodie, hair messy, like he threw clothes on quickly. But the second his eyes land on me, everything in his expression changes.
Concern. Immediate and unguarded.
"Jesus," he says quietly. "You okay?"
I try to answer, but nothing comes out properly. My throat feels tight, like I've been holding everything in for too long.
Ava lets out another piercing cry from my shoulder.
Mason's attention snaps to her instantly.
"What's going on?"
"I don't know," I manage, voice unsteady. "She won't stop. I've tried everything and she- she keeps-"
My sentence breaks apart.
Mason steps inside without hesitation, closing the door gently behind him like he already knows noise will make it worse.
"Hey," he says softly, looking between Ava and me. "You alright to sit down for a second?"
I nod too quickly.
My legs feel unsteady as I sink onto the couch.
Ava is still screaming, her tiny fists clenched, face flushed and exhausted.
Mason watches her for a moment, thinking, then speaks gently.
"Can I try?"
I hesitate.
Not because I don't trust him.
Because I don't know what else to do.
I carefully pass her over.
The second she's in his arms, something shifts.
She doesn't stop crying immediately, but the sound softens slightly-less frantic, more tired.
Mason adjusts her against his chest like he's done it before, one hand steady on her back.
"Hey, bug," he murmurs as he starts pacing. "You're alright. I've got you."
Bug.
It shouldn't matter. But it does.
I sit there, hands loosely clasped together, watching him move slowly through my small lounge room.
Ava's cries begin to fade in uneven waves. Not gone-but less sharp. Less panicked.
I don't understand it.
Or maybe I do, and I don't want to admit it.
After a few minutes, Mason looks over.
"You got a seat?" he asks softly.
I nod again and sink further into the couch.
The apartment feels different now. Quieter. Like the edges of it are no longer pressing in on me.
Ava gives a final hiccuping cry... then goes still.
Asleep.
I stare at them in disbelief.
"She hates me," I whisper before I can stop myself.
Mason immediately looks over, frowning.
"Don't say that."
The firmness in his voice is unexpected.
Not harsh.
Just certain.
Like he won't let me believe it.
"She doesn't hate you," he adds more gently. "She's just overtired."
My throat tightens, but I nod anyway.
Because I don't trust my voice right now.
Mason shifts Ava slightly, making sure she's comfortable before continuing to pace, slower now.
Then, after a moment, he glances at me.
"When did you last properly sleep?"
I hesitate.
The question feels too big somehow.
"I don't know," I admit quietly.
His jaw tightens slightly-not angry at me, but something close to it.
"You're running on nothing," he says.
"I'm fine," I say automatically.
Even I don't believe it.
Mason doesn't argue, but he doesn't accept it either.
He looks at me for a long moment, like he's assessing something deeper than I'm saying out loud.
"You should try and lie down," he says eventually.
I let out a short, humourless breath.
"I don't think I can."
"You don't have to do it all at once," he replies.
Simple.
Steady.
Like everything he says tonight.
Ava stirs slightly in his arms, then settles again, her tiny hand gripping the fabric of his hoodie.
The sight does something strange to my chest.
Warm. Tight. Unsettling.
Mason notices me watching and shifts his weight slightly, as if giving me space even while standing in the middle of my home.
"You want me to keep holding her while you rest your eyes?" he asks quietly.
I hesitate again.
Then nod.
Because I'm too tired to argue with anything that sounds like relief.
I lean back against the couch, eyes closing before I fully decide to.
The last thing I hear is his voice, low and calm as he keeps pacing.
"It's alright, bug. You're safe."
And for the first time in days, the apartment doesn't feel like it's closing in on me.
It just feels... quiet.