Page 114 of Let Me In

The hallway is dim. Soft light glows from the sconces he must’ve turned on before leaving. Everything here feels intentional. Quiet. Ready.

When we reach the bathroom, he pushes the door open gently and nudges the light switch with his shoulder.

Warm light spills into the small space.

He steps in first.

I stay near the threshold.

Not out of fear.

Just… awe.

Like I might wake up.

Like this kindness might vanish if I breathe too loudly.

He turns, sees me still lingering in the doorway.

Doesn’t coax.

Doesn’t press.

Just says, soft as a promise—

“Come here.”

His voice is low, warm, a quiet command that doesn’t push—it pulls. I step into the bathroom, heart stuttering. It’s not just obedience. It’s gravity.

I step into the bathroom.

It’s small but cozy. Clean. A warm wood cabinet. Simple stone countertop. A mirror that doesn’t make me want to shrink.

He opens the drawer.

Pulls out a brand-new toothbrush, still in the packaging.

Holds it out.

“You can keep it here, if you want.”

I nod.

But my eyes sting.

He opens the cabinet under the sink.

“Extra towels are down here. Floss is in that drawer. Hairbrush too, if you didn’t pack one.”

He moves like a man who’s already imagined this.

Already planned.

Not just for the moment.

But for me.

I can’t speak.

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