Page 126 of Burn Like An Angel

“No,” she whimpers.

“Did you want her to get hurt?”

“No, of course not!”

“Are you happy she’s gone?”

Ripley shrugs away from me, awkwardly twisting in the bed. “What the fuck, Raine?”

“I’m proving to you how the rest of us see it. Rae’s death is a tragedy. She didn’t deserve what happened to her, but that doesn’t mean it’s your fault. You have to stop taking on all this guilt.”

“But—”

“No buts, Rip. It stops now.”

Finding her shoulder, I slide my hand up and behind her neck to knead her skull. Ripley draws in a heavy breath, curling up into my chest. I can feel her tears sliding against my skin with each hiccup.

“It’s okay, babe. Let it all out.”

In many ways, I feel lucky to experience this side of her. Not many people know the real Ripley. The fact that she’s willing to let herself fall apart in front of me is a privilege I’ll never take for granted.

Holding her tight until her sobs turn to quiet sniffles, I let Ripley work through her grief. Sometimes, words are unhelpful. Providing a safe space to acknowledge the grief and let it come pouring out is far more powerful.

“Did you go into the kitchen naked?” She breaks the silence after a long time.

“I have boxers on.”

“What about the smashing sound?”

“Erm, I dropped a glass. Need to map the place out in my mind.”

Her hand splays across my lower back. I tune into the rhythmic strokes, each touch taking me to a familiar place whereI don’t need sight. Not with her. With Ripley, I feel perfectly whole.

We drift for a long while until the sounds of stirring echo from outside our bedroom. Kissing the top of her head, I gently peel her from my chest.

“Ready to face the music?”

“Not really.” She sighs.

“We can hide here if you need more time.”

“As much as I appreciate that, we can’t. We’ll have company soon.”

“I’ll happily barricade the door for you.”

Ripley pecks my cheek before I feel her sit up. “I love you.”

I never thought three simple words would mean so much to me. Perhaps I never thought she’d say them back. In a matter of months, my entire existence has shifted. It used to revolve around the next hit.

Now, it’s her.

A far more intoxicating drug.

Dragging myself from the bed, I feel around to locate the sweats and crumpled t-shirt I discarded before climbing into bed. They hang loose on my frame, but for clean clothes found in a pinch, I won’t complain.

Ripley uses the bathroom then pads back out, the ruffling of clothes being pulled on evidence of her stiff movements. She clasps my arm, leading me from the room.

“How’s the ankle?”

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