Page 40 of Divorced from Number Thirty-Eight
“You’ve already done?—”
“Enough?” I finish when she doesn’t.
“Yes!” She tugs again and this time with so much ferocity that I think she’s going to hurt herself.
So, I release her.
Then curse softly when her arm flies back and her elbow cracks against the opposite door.
“Easy, Red,” I murmur, guilt rippling through me.
Why am I fighting so hard to keep her near when the smartest thing—the safest thing—is to let her go?
She’s gone still, clutching her arm to her chest and I move again, reaching for her, this time to capture her elbow and gently run my fingers over the abused spot.
“Just take a breath, yeah?” I say when she remains like that statue, so damned still I need to know she’s breathing, that the wall she’s erecting around herself isn’t complete.
Isn’t so thick yet that I can’t break through.
And…yup.
This is so totally fucked.
But right now I don’t care. I just need her to stay.
“You just got out of the hospital,” I go on gently. “You need somewhere safe to recuperate.”
“A hotel is safe.”
Soft and sweet Faye, who’s hardly spoken five sentences to me in four years since I moved in next door is stubborn.
I snatch at the information, hold it tight like Gollum and his ring.
My precious.
Then I focus on the task at hand. “Please, Faye,” I say, still gently, “don’t fight me on this.”
“I have to.” It’s a whisper.
I tuck a wayward strand of her hair behind her ear. “Why, baby?”
“I can’t do it.”
“Can’t do what?”
A shudder, her chin dropping forward, her voice going so quiet I can barely hear it. “I can’t get used to it.” Then she adds before I can push further, “I can’t get used to not being alone.”
It’s another piece of her.
A heartbreaking one.
My lungs seize. “Aw, Red,” I murmur.
Her head snaps up, eyes flying open, and it’s impossible to miss the regret written into the lines of her face.
Regret for having shared that.
“I’ll stay,” she murmurs. “But just for a few days.”
