Page 15 of Torment Me Knot
I'm shaking. Tears have dried on my face and I didn't know I was crying.
My fingers are twisted in her shirt. Knotted there. Knuckles white, fabric pulled taut, and I don't remember doing it. When did I grab her? When did I...
Her arms loosen, careful not to trap. “I said the wrong thing. I should have thought about what words—” She stops. Swallows. “I'm so sorry, Espie. I should have been more careful.”
Weak. Pathetic.My body found her when my mind was gone, and now she knows.
It almost comes out.I know you didn't mean to.I swallow the words before they can escape. I press my lips together and the words burn all the way down. She doesn't get to know I was listening that closely. She doesn't get to know it got in.
I loosen my grip slowly. One finger at a time, I peel myself off her shirt.
Sera shifts back immediately, giving me space the second I pull away. No hesitation. No resentment. Just careful attention, like she’s trying to learn the shape of my fear without stepping on it.
“I’m sorry,” she says again quietly.
I shake my head before I can stop myself.
Not your fault.
The words never make it out.
Her scent stays close anyway. Cedar and basil threaded warmth through the antiseptic hospital air until my body starts leaning toward it without permission.
I curl my fingers hard into the blanket to stop myself from reaching back.
My omega aches after her.
That’s the worst part.
Not the fear.
Not the memories.
The wanting.
Chapter Seven
Espie
The fever is gone. The aches have faded to whispers. I can sit up without the room spinning.
Progress.
The kind measured in whether my legs will hold me if I need to run. They won't. Not yet. But yesterday I couldn't stand at all, so better.
There’s a knock at the door.
Not Sera.
I know her knock by now: light, tentative, like she's asking permission from the wood itself. This one is firmer, and underneath the sound, a scent drifts through the gap beneath the door.
Chamomile. Honey.
The breath leaves my body.
No.
That scent. I know it. I spent years trying to excise it from memory. Hoping I’d see my friend again hurt too much. So I stopped. But chamomile and honey press through the door, and either I've lost my mind at last or —
