Page 155 of Ruin Me Gently

“You’ve been out of it for a while, Lilith,” he continued. “Do you remember Dr. Hayes?”

I remembered snippets of conversation, but nothing concrete. “Vaguely.”

“She’s been checking in on you too,” he nodded. “You’re back on your medication now.”

Shit, that explained so much. Never mind what apparently happened with Clark. Being off my medication always knocked me for six. I’d learned that the hard way many, many times over the years.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t know you took anything.”

I shook my head. “How were you supposed to know that?”

“I don’t know. But still,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

I took another sip of the coffee, turning over all the words in my head. “Why isn’t it safe for me to go home?”

He stilled, then after a beat, he gestured toward the stool next to me, like he was asking for permission. I gave a small nod, and he lowered himself onto the seat.

“They haven’t found him yet.”

My stomach dropped. “What?”

His fingers curled into a fist on his thigh. “They haven’t found him yet.” He repeated.

I gripped the mug. “What the fuck?”

“That’s what I said.”

I let out a slow, exhausted breath and dropped my head to the counter with a dull thunk. A sharp sting rippled through my skull, a reminder of the stitches, but I was too overwhelmed to care.

“He isn’t going to get away with it. I promise you.”

I didn’t respond, I didn’t even move, just shut my eyes and relished in the feel of the cool marble against my forehead.

“You’re safe now. I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

I believed him. Every word. Not out of desperation or my brain being too foggy to fully grasp what was going on. It was because he’d already proven it. He’d walked me home so many times, made sure I got through the door safe. Held me when I needed it the most. Every gift had been meant to make my days better. He’d saved me from Clark, apparently. He’d brought me here just to take care of me.

I trusted him.

Blindly, I reached out, my hand finding his. “I know.”

I rolled my head to the side, dragging my gaze up him. I’d spent so long piecing him together in fragments. Now all at once, every part of him fell into place in front of me, whole and unhidden.

“You don’t have your scarf on.”

The second the words left my mouth, I wanted to punch myself in the throat.

Obviously, he didn’t have it on.

We weren’t in the street, or in the store, or in some weird limbo where he got to be seen and unseen at the same time. This was his home. His kitchen. His world. He wasn’t about to sit here, drinking coffee in his own damn penthouse that he’d brought me to, whilst wrapped in shadows.

“No, I don’t,” he said. “I wasn’t wearing it when I found you either. I wanted you to see me.”

My pulse fluttered in my chest.

“I realised how much I hurt you by not giving myself to you.”

My chest ached. I had no idea what to do with that. With him. With the cautious way he was laying his words out in front of me like something fragile.

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