Page 131 of Hide From Me

“What are you doing?! Why—why now?!” She screams as she throws another punch at my chest. I grunt but I dont stop her because some fucked up version of me believes I deserve it. Just like every scar I carry across my skin from every mission that took a piece of me that I don't let others see. Like somehow, by being handed the life I was given, I needed to pay, so I've given it in pain and hidden it with smiles.

“Because I love you,” I say, breathless, catching her wrists gently before she can fall apart completely. “Because I need you to stop carrying this weight alone. You’ve carried it long enough.”

“You don’t understand,” she whispers, eyes frantic. “You don’t—”

“I do,” I say quietly, steadying her. “Maybe not every piece. But enough. Enough to know you didn’t deserve to bury him by yourself. That you don’t deserve to live like he’s still out there, in the shadows, haunting every step.”

She’s shaking now—hard. Her hoodie slips further off her shoulder, the flashlight falling from her grip and landing in the dirt, beam flickering toward the trees like a signal for ghosts. Her arms hang limp at her sides for a beat, then curl back into fists, tight and trembling.

Behind us, the digging continues—shovels scraping stone, voices hushed and tense. I keep her eyes on mine, willing her to hold on just a little longer.

And then, for the first time since that night, she lets me hold her. Not fully—but enough. She collapses against me in a tangle of fear and exhaustion, and I catch her, arms tightening around her like I can physically hold her together.

“Shhh,” I whisper into her hair, pressing my lips to her temple, her breath ragged and uneven against my throat. “I’ve got you.”

“No,” she croaks, her voice hoarse, broken. She pushes against my chest with shaking hands, but there’s no fight behind it. “Moe, please—”

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere,” I murmur, brushing a lock of hair from her damp cheek. My fingers cradle her jaw, guiding her gaze up to mine. “Look at me, Ray. Just me.”

Her lashes flutter, trembling like the rest of her. She blinks up at me—eyes red-rimmed, soaked in salt and agony and too many sleepless nights. The kind of look that rips through me, that makes every inch of me scream to go back in time and take this burden from her before it ever got this far.

“I didn’t mean to kill him.”

The words fall between us like glass shattering on concrete. Fragile. Sharp. Final.

“You didn’t,” I say quietly, cupping her cheek again, grounding her in the weight of my hand. “He chose to hurt you. You defended yourself.”

Her head shakes once, small, jerky, like she can’t quite believe it, like her body wants to reject the truth even if her mind already knows it.

“He wouldn’t stop,” she whispers, voice hollow. “He—he was supposed to love me.”

My chest caves in.

Fuck.

“I know,” I say. It’s the only thing Icansay without unraveling myself. “I know, sunshine.”

“I didn’t know what else to do,” she murmurs, more to herself now than to me. “I just… buried him. Like trash.”

“No,” I growl, firmer this time. “Don’t you dare say that. Don’t youdare. You were surviving. You were protecting yourself. Youdidwhat no one else did for you.”

She swallows hard, throat bobbing as she sags into my arms. Her body is limp with exhaustion, but the tension hasn’t left her. It’s still buried deep beneath her skin, like barbed wire coiled around every nerve ending.

“I couldn’t sleep after it,” she says after a while, voice flat. “Not for weeks. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard his voice. Felt his hands. I had to scrub the floor three times just to get the smell out. And it still lingers.”

She leans into me like it’s the only thing keeping her from collapsing altogether.

“I’d do it again,” she admits softly, like a secret. “That’s the part that scares me.”

I don’t speak for a beat. Just breathe. Just listen. Just try to be what she needs right now.

“You did what you had to,” I say finally. “And you shouldn’t have had to do it alone.”

“I don’t want this to define me,” she whispers, hoarse. “I want to be more than this.”

“You are,” I promise, my gaze flicking over every feature I've come to love and every detail I want to memorize. “You always were. You’re more than this house. More than that night. More than anything he ever made you believe about yourself.”

A tear slips free. I catch it with my thumb.

---