Page 158 of Let Me In

Then again, slower.

Her shoulders drop, just slightly, like the last remnant of tension has loosened and let go.

The kind of drop that means she’s letting go.

Falling under.

Her body softens completely. The tension drains from her muscles like it was never there, though I know better.

She curls in tighter, the warmth of her body pressing close. Something in my chest eases, loosens, like I’ve just remembered how to breathe.

My shirt loose on her shoulders, her thighs tucked up against mine beneath the quilt, her hand still fisted gently in the fabric of my tee.

Like even in sleep, she doesn’t want to let go.

And God, I don’t want her to.

I don’t move.

I just sit there, still as stone, watching the firelight catch in the curve of her cheek, the dark of her lashes.

I watch her fall asleep.

Not like it’s something small.

Like it’s sacred.

Like I’ve been given something no one else on this earth has ever been trusted with. It awakens something old and deep in me—a vow I didn’t know I was still capable of making. Reverence, yes, but more than that. A fierce kind of devotion that spreads through my chest, protective and unshakable.

She fell asleep on me.

After everything.

After pain. After correction. After care.

After the words she whispered when she didn’t know how much they’d gut me.

Then hold me more.

I did.

I do.

And I will—again and again.

Even if this is the last night I breathe free air.

Because nothing else matters more than this.

More than her.

I wait until her breathing deepens.

Until her fingers go slack where they’ve clutched at my shirt.

Until the last of the firelight flickers low, casting the room in a soft, gold hush.

Then—slowly, carefully—I begin to shift.

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