CHAPTER 25
Roxanne
Darkness surrounds me.
Not the kind that creeps into corners and waits to swallow you whole. Not the kind that claws at your spine and makes you afraid to breathe. But the kind that shields.The kind that… protects.
Darkness has always been kinder than light. Darkness is a friend. In the dark, I can disappear. I can fold into myself and become nothing—no shape, no sound, no body for anyone to touch. In the dark, I don’t exist. And if I don’t exist—neither does he.
When he comes, the dark helps me hide.
But he’s there. He’s always there. And I hate it.
The floor creaks. Slow. Measured.
I wish daddy had chosen us over alcohol. I wish he’d chosen me. If daddy was here… he wouldn’t be.
He comes when the house is quiet. When the walls are asleep. When my mother isn’t there—or when she is, but too far to hear me.
I curl tighter into myself, pressing into the corner, willing my body to shrink smaller, smaller, until I disappear into the dark, become one with it.
“Come out now.”
His voice slices through the silence.
“I know you don’t like the dark.”
My throat tightens. Don’t breathe.
Don’t move.
Don’t exist.
Because breathing makes sound. And sound gets you caught.
If he can’t see me… I’m not here. If I’m not here… this isn’t happening.
His footsteps come closer.
Closer.
“If I find you…” He takes a step closer. “It won’t be good.”
My lungs burn. My chest aches, begging for air. But I don’t breathe. I don’t move.
Seconds stretch.
Or maybe minutes. Or maybe forever.
The footsteps retreat. Relief hits—sharp, sudden. I suck in a breath—too soon. A hand grabs me out of nowhere. Fingers digging in.
I scream. Loud. Raw.
“No—no—”My voice breaks as I thrash, clawing, pushing, trying to tear myself free.
“Please—please—”
My chest feels like it’s going to collapse in on itself.
“I’ll listen,” I choke out, the words cracking as they leave me. “I promise—”
“Roxanne.”
I freeze.
He never calls me that. Never uses my name.
“Roxanne.”
That’s not his voice. It’s different.
Lower. Closer.
I jerked awake. At first—there was only darkness.Then grey eyes. Familiar. Real.
“Look at me.”
His voice was rough. Grounding in a way the dream never was. My vision shifted, slowly pulling into focus. His face came into view first—close enough that I could feel his breath against my skin.
Then everything else followed. His large, warm hand was at my neck. Not tight. Just there. Anchoring me. His other arm was wrapped around my waist, pulling me into him—solid, unyielding.
“Breathe,” he said again.
And I did.
In. Out. In. Out.
My chest stuttered at first—uneven, shallow, but he didn’t let go. It rose and fell with his.
“Again,” he murmured with that deep voice that wrapped around me like a warm blanket.
I followed. Because it was easier than thinking. Easier than remembering. I breathed in again.
Smoke. Leather. Musk.
Him.
Not that sharp, chemical scent that burned the back of my throat. My body trembled. A full-body shiver I couldn’t stop.
His fingers tightened slightly at my neck—flexing, not to restrain, but to steady.
“That’s it,” he said, quieter now. “Stay with me.”
His thumb began to move in small, slow circles.
Round and round. And the panic inside me started to loosen. Not all at once, but piece by piece. Breath by breath.
The weight in my chest began to lift. The pressure eased, and the noise faded.
I blinked again, focused. He was still there. Still holding me. Still keeping me tethered.
His hand was still at my neck. Arm still around me, holding me like he wasn’t sure if I’d disappear again.
And somehow, for the first time that night, the dark didn’t feel like something I had to hide inside. Because I wasn’t alone in it.
I was fully here.
With him.