Page 18 of Escape

That simple truth breaks something in her. The sobs come harder now, shaking her body; her hands clutch at my shirt like it’s the only thing holding her together.

“No, I’m not—” She cries finally letting me see her vulnerability. I murmur quiet reassurances that I’m not even sure she can hear.

“I don’t know why I keep doing this,” she chokes out between sobs.

“Doing what?” I ask, my voice as gentle as I can make it.

Her breath hitches, and she pulls back just enough to look at me, her face streaked with tears. “Everything. The guys, the going out... It’s like...” She swallows hard, as if trying to stop her voice from breaking. “It drowns out the thoughts for a little while, but then it’s gone, and I feel worse.”

My chest aches as I watch her, her eyes wide and raw and full of something I don’t have the words to fix.

“I don’t even know what I’m looking for,” she whispers. Her lips tremble, tears slipping down her cheeks again. “I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

I brush a stray curl away from her face, allowing my hand to linger on her cheek. “You don’t have to do it alone,” I say softly. “But maybe... maybe it’s time to talk to someone. Someone who can help.”

She tenses, and for a moment, I think I’ve overstepped. But then she nods, just slightly, dipping her head forward again.

“My boss said the same. But I don’t know,” she murmurs, her voice small.

“That’s okay,” I say, pulling her back into the hug. “Just think about it. That’s all I’m asking.”

She rests her head against my shoulder, breathing slowly as the sobs subside. For now, I can’t fix it. But I can be here. And for tonight, that’ll have to be enough.

"I'm sorry, Owen. I'm sorry for being such an arse to you," she mumbles.

I don’t reply. Instead, I gently stroke her back, offering her the safe space she needs to let her grief out.

Mel is grasping me tight, her fingers digging into my back, her breath soft and uneven as it fans against my neck. We’re still sitting on the floor, her legs draped over mine, her arms slack ather sides. The tension that’s been radiating off her earlier is gone now, replaced by the weight of exhaustion.

I tilt my head slightly to look at her, careful not to jostle her too much. Her face is streaked with dried tears, her lashes dark against her cheeks. She looks smaller like this, vulnerable in a way that makes my heart ache.

“Mel,” I murmur, keeping my voice low.

She doesn’t stir. Her breathing is deep now, steady, the kind of rhythm that comes with sleep.

I sigh softly, shifting just enough to ease my legs out from under hers. She lets out a faint murmur, her brow furrowing slightly, but she doesn’t wake.

For a moment, I hesitate, unsure of how to move her without waking her. Leaving her here, slumped on the cold floor, doesn’t feel right.

I slide my arms under her, one hand cradling her knees, the other supporting her back. Her weight presses into me as I lift her, her head lolling to rest against my chest. She’s lighter than I expected, her body slack and boneless in sleep.

Her curls tickle my chin as I carry her down the hall, the soft creak of the floorboards the only sound in the flat. Her bedroom door is ajar, and I nudge it open with my foot, careful not to bump her against the frame.

The bed is a tangle of sheets and blankets, like she left it in a rush this morning. I lower her gently onto the mattress, my movements slow and deliberate. Her head sinks into the pillow, her hand twitching slightly as it brushes against the edge of the blanket.

I pause, crouching beside her, watching the way her face softens in her sleep. She looks so different now that her guard is completely down—free of the sharp edges she keeps up during the day.

She’s been carrying so much, more than she should have to. And I can’t fix it. Not really.

I reach out, brushing a stray curl away from her face. My fingers linger for a moment before I lean in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

“You’re not alone,” I whisper, the words barely audible.

She stirs slightly. Her lips part as if she’s about to say something, but her breath evens out again, and she sinks deeper into sleep.

I pull the blanket up over her shoulders, tucking it gently around her. Standing, I linger for a moment, my eyes tracing her face one last time, before I force myself to leave.

Chapter 8

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