Page 82 of Requiem
He notices. “That’s why I had them do it,” he adds quietly, almost like he’s trying to reassurebothof us at the same time. “So I can’t hurt you.”
A pause.
Then, softer, “You’re safe.”
The words break me just a little, because I know how much it costs him to say them. He was always my safe place whenever I struggled with my anxiety. Knowing that he's a threat to me now must kill him inside.
I nod once. “Okay,” I whisper.
Carefully, I lower myself onto his lap so I’m straddling him. The second I do, his whole body locks. It doesn’t seem like panic or anger, but restraint. His head dips slightly, eyes breaking away from mine for a moment. He’s grounding himself somewhere else so he doesn’t lose control. I’ve seen my patients do this.
My hands rest lightly against his shoulders, unsure at first, then settle when he doesn’t pull away.
He exhales through his nose. It’s slow and controlled.
“You’re okay,” I say softly.
His throat moves like he swallows something down. “Don’t…don’t move too fast,” he mutters.
“I won’t.”
That seems to steady him just a little. He finally looks at me again, but not all the way at my eyes yet. He’s approaching them in stages, like too much all at once might still do something to him when I’m this close.
“Talk,” he says. “Tell me something that’s good.”
My heart squeezes. “Something good?”
He nods once. “Something I can hold onto while I do this.”
For a second, I just look at him. At theeffort. The way he’s sitting here choosing this, even while everything inside him is still clearly stitched together with the remnants of brutal conditioning. And I let myself stop being careful in the way I’ve been careful for days. I let myself just…be with him. How I would be if we were just sitting like this together, as if none of this had happened.
“Okay,” I say quietly. “There’s this memory I have of you…”
His gaze lifts slightly, and it’s encouraging.
I smile faintly at that. “Vanessa was trying to help you cook for me for the first time. You remembered that my favorite food at the time was hot wings and french fries,” I giggle softly at the absurdity of it. “But when I walked in, Vanessa was spraying the stove andyouwith the fire extinguisher.”
A sound slips out of him that sounds a little like an amused huff. “That never happened,” he says immediately, but there’s something loosening in his voice now.
“Itabsolutelyhappened. You’re just coping with denial, here.”
“I am not—”
“You set off the smoke alarm because you forgot that throwing water on an oil fire is a terrible idea. Your mom ran around like a chicken with her head cut off when she realized what was happening. And your dad? He just stood there and laughed. And then Vanessa accused him of being the worst person present during a crisis.”
His lips twitch. It’s small, but my chest cracks at the sight of it.
“There it is,” I murmur.
His eyes finally lift fully to mine. And for a moment, the room narrows again. But this time, it feels like…peace. “It was Vanessa’s fault,” he says softly.
“Was not.”
A pause. Then, unexpectedly, he lets out a quiet laugh. It’s a little broken, like it isn’t used to existing anymore, but it’s there. And I feel it like a shift in gravity. His shoulders drop, and his breathing steadies. His eyes stay on mine longer than before, testing, learning, andholding.
And when the silence settles again, his gaze drifts, just briefly, to my mouth. It’s so subtle I almost think I imagined it. But I didn’t. Because I feel it happening inside me, too. Something swells, and I don’t think. Ijust move. I tilt my head down, slow enough that he could stop me if he needed to, but neither of us does anything except stay exactly where we are as I close the distance between us.
My lips brush against his softly, hesitantly, like neither of us fully trusts that this is going to work. His breath catches immediately against my mouth, and I feel his restraint because he's holding himself still even while everything in him clearly wants to move.
