Page 36 of They Are Mine

He turns, pushes me back slightly, protectively.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, breath shaky. Then, so soft, so sweet, he adds, “Stay here.”

Oh.

Oh, my sweetheart.

He’s thinking about my safety.

Even now.

Even as everything he owns crumbles around him.

He steps inside slowly.

Like his brain can’t keep up with what he’s seeing.

The overturned couch. The torn books.

He moves deeper.

I follow, watching as he takes in the ruined clothes.

His bed, his fucking bed.

His breathing is sharp, uneven. His hands shake.

“Noah,” I whisper, soft, softer than anything, stepping closer.

“I…” He swallows hard. “Who the fuck would do this?”

I step behind him, lay a careful hand on his back.

And that?

That’s when he caves.

Because he leans into my touch.

Just a little. Just enough.

He runs a hand through his hair, pacing, voice tight with disbelief. “I, I don’t even know where to start.”

I watch him, watch his mind spiral.

Watch him reach for his phone.

He’s going to call someone.

Maybe his sister. Maybe a friend.

No.

I won’t let him. I move in, touch him again. Slide my arms around him from behind, press my cheek to his back. Soothing. Soft. The only thing grounding him. “Don’t worry about it,” I whisper.

He exhales, long and shaking. “Juliet, everything I own.”

I turn him to me, tilt my head, stroke my fingers down his jaw. So much comfort. So much certainty. “Stay with me,” I say, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

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