Page 172 of His To Erase
“I remember… blood,” she says slowly. “And voices. Someone was yelling. I was in a room, I think. A motel. I remember the wallpaper was peeling, and there was something in the sink. Or?—”
She stops and swallows hard.
“I remember my ex slapping me. Hard.”
My jaw flexes, but I say nothing.
“And then someone else came. I don’t remember who. Just… that there were people with him. I remember being thrown in the back of a car.” She blinks. “I think I kicked someone.”
My pulse spikes, as I grit my teeth. “When?”
She shrugs. “I woke up somewhere else with new clothes and no idea where I was. I could tell I’d been drugged, so I panicked and ran. I found a bus stop, bought a ticket to Colorado with the cash in my pocket and never looked back.”
I swallow the taste of rust in my mouth but stay standing. She’s waiting for me to comfort her, share something back, maybe even meet her there, but I don’t.
Because I fucking can’t. If I open my mouth, I’ll tell her too much.
So I stay quiet.
Every word she says is a breadcrumb, and I don’t have the luxury of letting my feelings interfere—not if I want to get to the end of this. The movie continues to play, and I sit down beside her.
Her head tilts toward the screen, eyes half-lidded as the music swells—like something tragic just broke all over again. Then, slowly—without a word, without even looking at me—she leans sideways until her shoulder brushes mine.
At first, I think it’s nothing, until she exhales. Her head drops gently against my arm, her body relaxing in increments, like it finally found a place safe enough to unravel.
She’s asleep.
I don’t fucking move. I can’t even breathe. She just… folds into me like it’s instinct. And it wrecks me in a way nothing ever has, because I didn’t earn this, I don’t deserve the trust that came with it.
Still—I sit there, for almost an hour, watching her chest rise and fall in steady rhythm. Her mouth is parted just enough to steal my attention, and her hairs a mess across her cheek. And all I can think is—how the fuck am I ever supposed to let this go now?
I move slowly, careful not to jolt her as I shift my arm under her legs and scoop her into my chest. She’s weightless in a way that guts me—like she’s been carrying so much for so long that even sleep can’t anchor her.
Her head lolls against my shoulder, and for one fucked-up second, I let myself imagine this is normal. That she’s mine in some quiet, unbroken way. I make it to the bedroom without a sound, easing her down onto the mattress and she stirs as the blanket slips over her legs.
“M’sorry,” she mumbles, voice caught somewhere between sleep and storm.
I go still.
“What?”
Her lips part again, barely moving. “I didn’t mean to ruin everything,” she whispers. “I just wanted out.”
Ruin everything…?
The words slice through me, and my pulse staggers. Something cracks deep in my chest.
Holy fuck.
What if I got it wrong? What if this whole time—this obsession, this twisted game—I’ve been chasing a ghost?
I back out of the room like I’m standing on a minefield, softly clicking as the door shuts. Then I’m heading straight to my office. My hands shake as I rip open the locked drawer and pull out the file I swore I understood. The one I’ve dissected, cross-referenced, and memorized. Now I flip it open and start from the beginning.
If what I’m thinking is true—if those dates are really missing—then everything I built this mission on is about to fucking implode.
I lean back in the chair, cracking my knuckles, as I stare down at the open file like it’s mocking me. I’ve read it a hundred times and it still doesn’t tell me what the hell happened to her or who she was before she stopped being her.
I pull my phone out of my pocket, and scroll to the only name I trust and he picks up on the third ring.
