Page 37 of The Road Less Traveled By

“Incorrect.”

“Oh, am I?” She smiles, her shine coming back as I goad her.

“We talked at our first meeting, and after that, I didn't want to—” I stop; I don't want to make her uncomfortable.

“You didn't want to what?”

“Your voice. I wanted it to heal, and I thought any unnecessary strain would make it heal slower.”

“Oh.”

Yeah. Oh is right.It’s been my job to protect her ever since I met her, so I did, but admitting that to her right now is making me feel strange, and I have no idea why.

“It’s just weird sometimes, all the flashes of the camera on me. Every time a picture gets taken of me, there’s a light on me, and people are noticing me through that. But when they’re gone, and I’m by myself in my room, I feel…lonely.” She folds her hands in her lap before continuing. “I feel like my struggles were broadcasted across the internet four years ago, and now, it’s happening again. It feels like this weird and strange cycle. Every time I’m broken, it’s somehow used as another story, another headline, anything people can use to get clicks. My pain is broadcasted for the world to see, and I don't think I’ll ever get used to that.”

I don't even know what to say to her. I wonder if writing runs in the family, because the way Bree just described that was hauntingly beautiful.

“I’m sorry for dumping that on you. I shouldn't have—”

“Bree, don't apologize. You know I’m always here when you need someone tolisten.”

“Thank you.”

The rest of the ride home is filled with silence,Friday, I’m In Loveby The Cure playing in the background.

— MATILDA BY HARRY STYLES

After tossing and turningin my bed for what has felt like hours, I finally swing my legs to the side and get up.

Sometimes, I don't even know why I bother trying to sleep. I should know by now that my brain never shuts off, and sleep will probably never come again—at least with Ralph still running wild.

I slide my fuzzy pink slippers on and softly walk down to the kitchen, hoping I don’t wake Vince up. I thought I heard him walking around as I crept down the stairs, and I remember he told me once that he’s a pretty light sleeper, so I try my best not to make too much noise as I pull the strawberries from the fridge.

My favorite late-night snack has, and always will be, chocolate-covered strawberries. There’s just something so perfect about chocolate at night, and the strawberries trick my brain into thinking it’s a healthy snack. It's a win-win.

I grab the chocolate and place it in a bowl, throwing it in the microwave so they can melt while I wash the strawberries. As I’m placing the strawberries in the sink, the kitchen light flicks on, and I flinch a little.

I already know it’s him before he says anything.

As I turn, I have to will my jaw to stay attached to my mouth, because leaning against the entrance to my kitchen is a shirtless, sweatpants-wearing Vince, his tattooed arm sleeve on full display, as well as his abs.

I might start drooling.Vince Evans is like a real-life bodyguard romance character come to life, and he’s never been more off-limits.

He’s mybodyguard, and I’m suddenly thinking about all the ways I want to climb him like a tree. I haven't had thoughts like this in a while—four years, to be exact. I’m in the world's longest dry spell because the thought of another person touching me in that way again makes me want to curl into a ball on my floor.

But right now, the thought of him touching me doesn't repulse me.

Itexcitesme.

But I have to remind myself he has a job to do, and the last thing I want is to distract him from it.

If he notices me staring, he doesn't say anything. “Can’t sleep?”

“Nope. I didn't wake you, did I?”

He just shakes his head. “Chocolate-covered strawberries?”

“I should've known you would guess that.” I laugh as I turn back to the sink, placing the strawberries under the spray. A few seconds of silence later, and the microwave beeps. “Can you grab that for me?”

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