Page 78 of The Casualty of Us
Desperately.
To go back to a time when the world made sense again.
“Okay.” I hear what sounds like a door shutting right before he takes a couple more steps and lowers me to the ground. “Here we go.”
His hands stay on my waist, and when he starts to tug me down, I go easily, limbs collapsing down without a fight. The part of my brain that’s been turning him over like a Rubik’s Cube as he answers every freaking question I throw his way about the books currently checked out. Only knowing that he’ll get me to the other side of this and that there’s no room for anything else in the mess of my mind right now.
“Ophelia,” he rasps softly, bringing me down on my side against what has to be carpet but keeping me tucked right up against his chest. “I don’t want you to freak out when you open your eyes so I’m letting you know it’s dark in here.” His arm tightens around me, fingers pressing into my ribs. “But you said you want to be safe, so there are two locked doors between you and the world right now, and I’m not letting anyone get in here.”
Goddammit.
I nod against his chest with another quick gasp.
“Or should I open—”
I dig my nails into his chest.
“Okay, okay, got it.”
Not right now.
Which is strange. Ollie was big on everything being open for me right afterward, which made sense. I needed it then. Used to jump anytime someone shut a door for the first couple of weeks.
But this has changed things, hasn’t it?
Ignorance or cowardice, no take-backs.
“Ophelia, Ophelia, with eyes…”
He gives a full-body sigh against mine. “You still there, Freckles?”
I pull back just enough to try and get it out. “I—” But…that’s not right, is it?
Did I forget? Did I make it up?
Did two fragmented pieces of memory crash together to create something imaginary?
“I—I’m not sure.”
“Want some help working it out?”
“I…” Not yet. “Tell me where we are.”
Because I need to feel like my head’s not about to break apart first.
He pauses. “My closet.”
I crack my eyes a slit at that and see nothing but darkness at first, the fabric of whatever shirt he’s wearing lost in a sea of nothingness. It has my heart immediately jumping all over the place and instinct forcing my eyes wide to search out some kind of light even with the warning he gave me. Sure that I’m about to find a way to start cursing him out regardless of whether I can make words come out or not.
That’s when I find them, though. Smack dab above me in the form of stupid little glow-in-the-dark stars stuck on the ceiling.
I stare at their dull twinkle, managing a couple of breaths and forcing a swallow past the ache in my throat to get out. “Stars?”
“Yep,” he drags out softly. “Brought ’em with me when I came.”
I scowl up at them. “Why?”
“Cause my dad put them up, and I didn’t want to leave them there.”
