Page 30 of All the Things We Buried
He pulled me out, wrapped me in a towel, and held me like his little rag doll. I felt so tiny in his hands. He was holding me together but breaking me apart. He took me to the bedroom, andas we entered, I saw Sophie standing in the doorway. She wore the same red dress I had planned to wear.My breath hitched.
He chose her. Did he always choose her?
Sophie’s voice cracked. “Oh my God, Lenore, are you okay?”
Her eyes went wide, but she wasn’t afraid. More embarrassment. Maybe annoyed. Her hand tugged the red dress down as if it had suddenly become too tight.
And he, he didn’t look at me. He looked at her.
“I think it’s best if I call Cameron to come get you,” he said coldly. “Lenore’s not going anywhere tonight.”
“But…” she started. Then stopped.
Her lips parted as if she wanted to say more, but she just rolled her eyes and turned away. The sound of her heels clapping against the wooden floor echoed down the hallway until the door slammed shut.
Silence.
Dorian set me gently on the bed, his hands careful, trying not to hurt me.
“Why?” he whispered. “Why did you do this?”
He reached out, traced a finger lightly along the wound. His touch was so soft it made me shiver.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said, turning away. I pulled the blanket over my body, over the towel, over the shame.
He said nothing.
He walked to the closet, took the red dress, and placed it back on its hanger like it wasn’t even out, like it wasn’t meant for him. Then he pulled out a pajama set and set it beside me on the bed.
“You’re staying home,” he said quietly. He didn’t wait for me to answer.
I didn’t move, I didn’t even say thank you. He stayed there for a minute, I could hear him breathing, but I was too seen to say a thing. So it was easier for him to walk out and close the door behind him.
The silence that followed wasn’t peaceful. It was suffocating me.
I felt exposed. Not just physically, but like something inside me had been cracked open for them to see. Sophie had come here to flirt, to sleep with him. And he probably would’ve let her.
I was supposed to be invisible, but now they had seen me.Reallyseen me.
And somehow that hurt more than being ignored.
I curled deeper under the blanket, heart pounding, face hot with shame. The one place I thought was safe felt invaded. Like the walls had fallen, and nothing was mine anymore.
I didn’t want to be touched. I didn’t want to be pitied. I just wanted to disappear.
If this is what love feels like, I don’t want it.I know I’m just some stupid teen with a crush on the first man who made me feel seen, who made me feelloved. But this… this can’t be fake. Can it? He cared. Iknowhe did.
Then why does it feel like I’m falling apart? Why can’t we be together? Why won’t life just let usbe? Why do people always tear apart the ones who were meant for each other?
If this is what true pain feels like, I don’t want that either.Maybe I don’t understand it all. Maybe I am too young. But this, this pain, it doesn’t feel like something I was supposed to survive.
Why does it hurt so much? Why does it hurtworsethan tearing my own skin open?
Why can’t I just say how I feel? Maybe I was never meant to speak. Maybe I was meant to be silent. Just a ghost, breathing in the walls of this house.
Am I stupid?
I could hear a soft note playing from the piano downstairs. Then another.
