Page 68 of Twisted Love

When I turn, Earl is there, but he’s too far away. His face is twisted in pain, and before I can call out to him, a deafening crash sounds as the floor beneath him gives way. He falls into the darkness, his outstretched hand disappearing into the void.

I wake with a start, screaming, my chest heaving and my face wet with tears. The room is dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of the bedside lamp. The terror of the dream is still clawing at me and I flail wildly. Before I can fully process where I am, I feel strong arms wrap around me, pulling me close. I can’t tell if they are real or part of the nightmare.

“It’s okay,” Earl’s voice murmurs in my ear, steady and reassuring. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

I clutch at him desperately, my sobs shaking both of us. “Don’t leave,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “Please don’t leave.”

“I’m here and I’m not going anywhere,” he promises, holding me tighter. His warmth surrounds me, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I believe him. The fear and the nightmare fade into the background, replaced by the steady comfort and safety of his strong presence.

CHAPTER42

EARL

She feels so small in my arms, so fragile, that I’m terrified I might break her just by holding on too tightly. But I can’t let go—not ever. Her body shakes as the last of her sobs fade into quiet sniffles, and when she finally relaxes against me, I settle her back into the bed and pull the soft blankets around her like a cocoon. She’s too weak to protest, her head lolling against my chest as I tuck her in.

Her hair is damp from sweat, sticking to her forehead, and I brush it back gently, my fingers trembling. Watching her fight this sickness has been unbearable. She’s been slipping in and out of restless sleep, her breaths labored and shallow, and I’ve been powerless to do anything but stay by her side. It’s a kind of helplessness I’ve never known before, and it’s shredding me from the inside out. I can’t take my eyes off her; every rise and fall of her chest feels like a victory and a warning all at once.

“You need to rest,” I whisper, more to myself than to her.

Her eyelids flutter, but she doesn’t open them. I don’t move, afraid to disturb her as I cradle her like a child. My mind races with every mistake I’ve made, every moment I’ve hurt her, and the weight of my shame feels like it might crush me. The memory of every cutting word, every instance when I pushed her away, crashes down on me now.

And all for what?

To protect my pride?

To convince myself that I can live without her?

But I can’t. I never could. Even if she doesn’t love me, even if she only stays with me because she needs the security my money can provide, she’s still mine. My gold digger, my everything. I’ve always known it, deep down, but it took seeing her like this—so breakable, so close to slipping away—to admit it to myself.

Without her, nothing else matters.

The door creaks open, and Nora comes in, balancing a tray of food. She glances at me, her expression softening when she sees the way Raven is curled against me.

“The poor mite needs to eat,” she says gently, setting the tray down on the bedside table.

I nod, shifting Raven slightly so she’s propped up against the pillows. “Raven,” I murmur, brushing my thumb across her cheek. “Wake up. You need to eat something.”

Her eyes flutter open, glassy and unfocused, and she groans softly. “I’m not hungry,” she mumbles.

“You have to try,” I insist, lifting the bowl of soup from the tray. Nora hands me a spoon, and I hold it to Raven’s lips. She resists at first, turning her face away, but eventually, she relents and takes a small, reluctant amount.

“Good,” I say softly, offering her another spoonful. “Just a little more.”

When the bowl is half-empty, she leans back against the pillows, her eyes closing again. I set the tray aside and press a kiss to her forehead. “Rest now,” I whisper.

* * *

The hours blurtogether as I stay by her side. The light shifts outside, moving from dim gray to full dark, and from full dark to dim gray back to light, but I don’t move. When Nora brings fresh clothes, I help Raven to the bathroom, supporting her trembling frame as she shuffles across the room. She’s too weak to bathe herself, so I fill the tub and gently guide her in. Her cheeks flush with embarrassment as I roll up my sleeves and kneel beside the tub, but she doesn’t protest.

“Just relax,” I tell her, dipping a soft sponge into the soapy water. I run it over her arms and shoulders, careful not to press too hard. Her tension eases gradually, her head leaning back against the edge of the tub as I work. When I move to wash her hair, she closes her eyes, letting me massage the shampoo into her scalp.

“You’re doing great,” I say softly, rinsing the suds away.

She doesn’t respond, but the corners of her lips twitch, almost a smile. It’s a small victory, but it’s enough to keep me going.

When the bath is over, I wrap her in a warm towel, dry her off, dress her and use the hairdryer on her hair. Meanwhile, Nora has already had the maids to change the sheets and air the room while she was in the bath. The heat is turned up too. Raven looks a little less pale, a little less fragile.

She sits at the small table in the corner, and I hand her the dose of medicine the doctor prescribed.

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