Page 69 of Unraveling with You

“I love you too.”

We fall silent - my cue to flick off his bedroom light. I don’t look at him lying there, popping my head in just enough to spot the light switch, but his silence is heavy. As I disappear back down the hall, my eyes squeeze shut. How did Remington tolerate binding my wrists again and again, even when it triggered me into heavy tears? All I want is to bring his smile back.

But he’s giving me a chance to rescue him tonight.

With a slow, shaky exhale, I turn around, striding down the hall with louder footsteps. Stopping in Remington’s doorway, I can see him, but he can’t see me. I didn’t think of it so clearly - that this is what his uncle must’ve seen. Rage thrusts my heartbeat throughout my body. I breathe through it, hating how Remington is laid out on his back, trusting his bed to keep him safe enough to sleep.

I can’t believe Remington braved these feelings for me too.

But as he tugs his blankets higher, my heart shatters.

“Hello?” He whispers. His voice comes out so small.

Everything in me begs to protect him. I grip the doorway for stability, dying to be his hero. “Remington? Are you okay, sweet boy?”

He’s silent for a long moment. “No. I’m scared someone will come in.”

My heart flips. “Can I come in to hold you?”

There’s another silence. This time, it’s broken by choppy, laborious breaths. “Yes.”

I’m tempted to run. But I know that might startle Remington, so I open my arms, softening my footsteps. To my surprise, he opens the blankets. But he doesn’t just allow me into his safe space: Remington scoots over for me, giving me the spot he warmed.

I huff out the loving ache in my chest, climbing into bed beside him. “Oh, sweet boy.”

Remington huddles into me quickly, pressing his forehead against my collarbone. The second I stop moving, I’m hit with a wave of his anxiety - physically experiencing his trauma shakes with him. I wrap my arms around his back to protect more of him, squeezing my watery eyes shut.

“I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

Remington finally allows himself to let out a soft, vocal cry against my chest. “Sorry.”

“Breathe, baby. I’ve got you now.”

Nodding, Remington breathes deeper, his frantic grip softening into a firm squeeze. Every muscle I rub on his back is rock-hard, and I know it’s not from our workouts. He’s uncomfortable, but he’s allowing me to see it. I love how vulnerable he is with me: this big, athletic, tattooed man, trusting in me to witness him reliving his darkest moments. It makes me feel so special to him.

“Sweet boy,” I whisper. “You’re so precious. You deserve to feel safe.”

He shudders through a tearful breath, wrecking my heart.

I cuddle him closer, kissing his forehead. “I’m here to protect and save you now, the best I can. No one can come in to hurt you without anyone to stop them anymore. You’re not alone.”

After a few hard, tense swallows, his voice comes out fragile. “Thank you.”

My heart pounds wildly. All I know to do in traumatic moments is burrow up and hide, just like I would when I was a kid. Normally, that would seem immature to suggest in our thirties, but as Remington quivers beside me, maybe he really is leaning into that younger side of himself, and little Lilibeth has the best idea of all.

“C-can I hide with you under the blankets?” I whisper.

He lets out a soft, smiling huff. “Okay.”

Lifting the blankets for us, Remington waits until I sink deeper into the covers with him before tucking them over our heads.

I feel for his hand in the muffled darkness, squeezing it tight. He lets out a slow, steady breath.

“Good job,” I whisper. “We’re safe in here together. It’s okay to cry or feel scared.”

The whimper that erupts from him bristles my nerves. He rushes for me, frantic hands scooping around my waist to press me hard against his chest.

With our torsos compressed, every desperate heave of his lungs rattles against my ribcage. I stroke his head, struggling to quiet my fear.

---