Chapter 41 I’m Never Leaving You Again
I’m Never Leaving You Again
Emily's Search History: am I insane for being in love with my ex-patient?
Emily
My eyelids are heavy as I force them open, blinking a few times.
The first thing I see is Eli, staring at me as though he can’t bear to take his eyes off me. He probably can’t.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, his voice taut and strained.
I don’t respond—we both know I’m not okay. Instead, I push myself up against the pillows and stroke Graham, his body pressed right up against my uninjured side.
“The house—”
“Is fine.” Eli cuts me off. “We tidied it last night.”
I swallow hard, my throat thick as tears burn. “I should have listened to you.”
Eli’s shoulders bunch. “You should have.” I open my mouth, but he rushes to continue. “But I know why you didn’t.”
“You do?”
“You were protecting Graham.”
My head jerks up and down. “She would have killed him. She always hated him.” Graham growls beside me, as if he knows who she is. “He was protecting me too,” I tell Eli, looking at him through my lashes.
Eli smiles softly. “He’s brave.”
I let my head fall against Eli’s firm shoulder, taking comfort in his warmth. “Thank you for helping me.”
“I should have been here.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
His fists clench at his sides. “We knew she was messaging you. She told us she was in London. We shouldn’t have assumed the quiet since Liam meant she was done.”
“It’s done now,” I murmur.
All my training on how to negotiate someone down from a ledge went out the window seeing her again. I knew I should have used soft, neutral language. I knew I should have been more agreeable in order to calm the threat. But none of that mattered in the moment.
I didn’t exactly mean to kill her. But I’d resigned myself to the possibility. It was me or her. When she came at me again, I grappled with her for the knife.
All I could think about was Izzy—about the catharsis she felt from killing her rapists. About Carina. Tess. I remembered the abuse Gia put me through.
I knew I couldn’t run anymore.
I couldn’t stop myself as the knife ended up buried in her chest. I didn’t want to stop myself.
And now, sitting here, letting my stalker comfort me, I realise something.
I don’t regret it.
I feel… free. For the first time in years, I feel completely free.
I didn’t just kill my ex; I killed the version of myself that believed the world could be saved through talk therapy. That version of Emily was gone the moment I felt the knife sink into her chest.
And there’s comfort in knowing that Eli doesn’t judge me for it. He accepts me. Accepts what I did.
Another realisation slithers down my spine, then wraps itself around my heart.
“I love you,” I say, before I can think better of it.
Eli’s body turns rigid.
“W-what?” he breathes, his voice quiet but hopeful.
“I love you, Eli,” I repeat, looking up at him so he can see the sincerity in my eyes.
“Angel,” he chokes out.
I cup his jaw, smiling softly. “I love you.”
His throat bobs. “I love you. You know I love you.”
I nod. “I know.”
Exhaustion presses behind my eyes—the blood loss, the adrenaline. Both.
I yawn, snuggling down to rest my head in his lap.
Before I succumb to slumber, I hear him whisper, “I’m never leaving you again.”
When I wake again, Eli is no longer beside me. Neither is Graham.
My body trembles, fingers digging into the soft sheets, desperate for something to anchor the panic rising inside me.
The door opens as my vision blurs and my breath turns to jagged gasps.
“Angel,” Eli calls out, his voice warped. His figure rushes to me, hands outstretched as they run up and down my arms, warming me. “What’s wrong, Em?”
It takes a moment for my sharp breaths to slow enough for me to speak. “Sorry,” I murmur, my cheeks reddening. “I got scared when you weren’t here.”
Eli’s face darkens for a moment before a brilliant smile crosses it. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”
Relief settles into my bones.
Eli reaches out beside him, and a mug appears in front of me.
“What is this?”
“Honey and lemon. Ty said you’ll need sugar.”
My heart melts at the care in his voice.
The day passes with me barely moving except to use the toilet, which Eli helps me to with an arm around my shoulder. This time, he refuses to leave the room. He brings me meals in bed and keeps my sugar levels up by pressing orange juice into my hands every few hours.
The thing is, he doesn’t leave our room to do any of this. He called Tyler and has had him cooking so Eli can keep me in his sight. I worry it might be overkill, but I don’t voice it. I like having him close.
Graham doesn’t stray far either. Turns out Eli took him outside to do his business when I first woke. Since then, he’s barely left my side.
The next day is much the same. By dinner, I’m going stir-crazy.
“I want to eat downstairs,” I tell Eli.
He freezes. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“Tyler!” I shout out, hoping he can hear me.
Footsteps hesitate in the hall. A soft knock sounds.
The door—fixed earlier after Eli kicked it down to get to Graham—swings open, and Tyler’s broad frame fills the doorway.
“I’m allowed out of this bed, aren’t I?” I ask, fixing him with a pointed look.
He glances between Eli and me, clearly unsure which answer is safest. Eli glares. Tyler opens his mouth.
“The truth,” I say firmly.
He gulps. “Yes. She’s okay to get out of bed. It would probably be good for her.”
Eli rolls his eyes. “Fine. You can watch me cook.”
Pleased to have Eli’s cooking back—Ty’s was fine, but Eli is exceptional—and pleased to have won, I swing my legs over the side of the bed.
My leg hurts too much to take full weight, so Eli steadies me with an arm around my waist.
"Let me carry you," he insists, trying to scoop me up.
He stand firm despite the pain. "No," I grit out. "Let me walk."
There's a moment where I think he'll pick me up anyway, but then he just pouts, keeping his arm around me as he helps me move.
Slowly, we make our way down the steps.
He pulls out a chair at the table, turning it to face the kitchen so I can watch while he opens cabinets and starts preparing dinner.
But instead of watching him, I can’t stop staring at the tiny spot of blood on the cabinet where Gia stabbed me. Eli has clearly cleaned as much as he could, but that stain feels permanent. Haunting.
The next thing I know, Eli’s face is level with mine as he crouches in front of me. “Em?”
I shake my head, closing my eyes briefly. “Sorry.”
“Where were you just then?”
“There’s blood on the cabinet.”
Eli twists to look, his shoulders tensing. “Sorry, Angel.”
“I hate that I can feel her presence in this room.”
His lips twist. “We’ll redecorate.”
“You shouldn’t have to do that.”
He covers my hand with his, squeezing gently. “I want to.” He stands and returns to prepping. “I’m making pasta. Tomato sauce okay?”
“Sounds perfect.”
“What colour would you want the new kitchen to be?”
“Eli, you don’t need to change your house for me.”
“I want it to be our house. We can make it fit us both.”
Tears prick behind my eyes. “What about blue?”
He nods. “Blue is nice. Light or dark?”
“Light. But the island should be a little darker.”
“And the counters?”
“White.”
I know he’s distracting me—keeping my mind off Gia—and it’s working. I appreciate him so much right now.
Soon enough, he sets a plate of steaming linguine in front of me, tomato sauce piled high and buried beneath a generous snowfall of parmesan. Ty joins us for dinner. It’s only fair, considering how much he’s done for us over the past few days.
Tomorrow is Monday, but I’ve already emailed my boss to say I won’t be coming in. I didn’t give the real reason—we didn’t report Gia’s break-in, for obvious reasons—so I simply called in sick.
“How do we explain Gia’s disappearance?" I ask Eli as he helps me into the living room and onto the sofa.
Tyler is the one to answer, speaking from the doorway. “I’ll call Karl, he has people who can fake a trail. We’ll make it seem like she went to Spain or something.”
Tyler leaves once I’m mobile again, and Eli and I spend the evening watching rom-coms. I need something light after the weekend’s events.
When it’s time for bed, Eli carries me upstairs—to the bathroom so I can brush my teeth and wash my face—then straight into bed. I don’t bother arguing. I just curl into his arms, exactly where I want to be.
Eli’s solid chest rests beneath my head like a warm pillow, sunlight filtering in through the curtains.
Lips brush my hair. “Good morning, Angel.”
“Morning,” I yawn, snuggling closer.
“Do you want a shower today?”
“Are you saying I smell?” I tease, feigning offense.
His chest rumbles with laughter. “Well, now that you mention it—”
“Eli!” I gasp, swatting at him as I sit up.
He’s out of bed in an instant, helping me to my feet and guiding me toward the bathroom.
He settles me onto the toilet, then drops to his knees to carefully remove the dressing over my stab wound. It isn’t a huge cut, but it’s deep. Ty’s stitches are small and neat, though he warned I might be left with a scar.
The shower kicks on, steam filling the room. Eli helps me up and beneath the warm spray. As the water cascades over my skin, I sigh, heat loosening the tightness in my chest.
He lathers soap onto a washcloth and drags it gently over my shoulders, my arms, across my stomach, then down my legs. He avoids the cut, but by the time I step out, wrapped in a fluffy towel, the rest of me feels renewed.
His arms come around me, steady and firm—keeping me grounded, keeping me upright while my leg still aches.
Our reflection meets my gaze in the mirror. It’s his expression that keeps my insecurities at bay. The open, unguarded love he wears so effortlessly.
“I love you,” I murmur, sinking back into his embrace.
His arms tighten. “I was hoping you’d say it again.”
Our eyes meet in the glass. “I mean it.”
His eyes close, lips curving. “I’m fucking obsessed with you, Emily Morgan.”