Page 79 of Requiem
“You can leave if you want,” I continue, and she turns to me. “I don’t want you or Micah to get hurt. Please.”
“I could never leave you,” she murmurs. “Not ever, Em. I’ve loved you forever. I willnotabandon you.”
“Stop,” I whisper, but there’s no real bite to it.
“I’m serious,” she says, her voice firm. “Wewillget out of this. Jude never stopped loving you before. That will not change.”
I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly aware of how thin the walls feel, how exposed the house is despite everything Rafe has done to lock it down. I hope she’s right. But knowing what I do about what he’s gone through from a professional sense…it is possible that he will never love me like he used to.
“I hatenotknowing,” I admit, my voice quieter now. “I hate sitting here while Alexei’s out there…pulling strings, and thinking he can get away with hurting Jude.”
Heather finally looks back at me, her expression soft but serious. “That’s the point,” she says. “He wants you unsettled and imagining theworst.”
I nod, even though it doesn’t make the feeling go away. But before I can answer, the door opens, and I almost jump.
“Hey,” Micah greets with a smile.
“How is he?” I ask, shifting so he can scoot in beside me.
“He’s better,” he sighs, rubbing his face. “He’s more recognizable than before, honestly. He wasn’t triggered at all, so that’s good. He took the Suboxone just fine.”
“I’m happy he’s coming back to us,” Heather says with a smile, bumping me with her elbow as she slides into bed. “See? We’ve got him.”
I lean my head on her shoulder.
Micah lies down. “Staying with us tonight, Em?”
I consider it, but I’m too comfortable right now to move. “Yeah, I’m not moving.”
Heather laughs, pulling me down and snuggling up against my front as Micah rests at my back. We keep talking for a little while, but my mind drifts.
To Jude’s hands on my face, and the way he kissed me like he didn’t know how to stop.
And when he flinched after.
Chapter twenty-two
JUDE GRAVES
The room isannoyinglyquiet. I haven’t moved from this spot on the floor since Emma and Micah left me. I’m not ready to lie down yet. I don’t think I could, even if I fucking tried. The bed feels like weakness right now. Like giving in, or slipping back into whatever version of myself I’ve been drifting in and out of since they pulled me out of that place.
Or maybe I’m just finally here again. Present.
That realization sits heavily in my chest because it’s been days, and most of it didn’t feel real. Like I was watching someone else’s life.
The second night here, I dreamt I was dead.
And the worst part is…it felt quieter than this. It wasn’t all that bad, honestly.
I let out a sigh and sit still for another moment, elbows braced on my knees, staring at nothing. My thoughts don’t line up right. They come in pieces. Some of them are mine. Some of them…not. I don’t think.
And then my gaze drifts to the wooden chair in the corner that Emma has been using during some of her visits. My jaw tightens as I push myself tomy feet. The movement feels slow after sitting on the floor for god knows how long. I drag the chair across the floor, the scraping sound of it pissing me off, and position it in the center of the room. Facing the door. Facing where she stands when she comes in.
My stomach twists at the thought, but I don’t stop. I lower myself into the chair, my hands settling on my thighs as I force myself to stay still. If I’m going to fix this, Ihaveto face it.
I have to faceher.
So I do the one thing I spent months learning how not to do. I close my eyes, and I picture her. Not the version my body wants to reject. Not the one tied to pain and wires and commands barked in a language that I can’t fucking unlearn.
