Page 56 of A Not So Merry Rescue
A shiver races up my spine. What if it’s something I can’t handle? What will I do then?
I tamp those thoughts down, needing to get a better grasp on what we’re dealing with.
“Hey.” Her voice is strained, weak, the usual soft cadence now rough.
“Are you hungry? Did you eat today?”
A coping mechanism I learned long ago—food makes everything seem less bleak. The more sugar and fat, the better.
She wraps her arms around her abdomen, giving herself a hug. I itch to pull her into my arms, but I don’t want to upset her more. “I had a late lunch. What time is it?”
“Almost seven. I’ll heat some soup my mom sent. Are you okay with mushrooms?”
“Sure.” The one-word agreement is lackluster, but at least she’s willing to eat. “About before?—”
I cut her off. “Food first, then we’ll talk.” I shake my head. “You’ll talk, I’ll listen,” I amend, in case she thinks she can get out of it.
Her hand is balled in the sleeve of her hoodie, and she won’t meet my gaze, but she gives a tiny bob of her head. She can have this time now to figure out how to share her story because once I get her on the couch, she’s not leaving until I have it all. No matter how raw and horrible, she’s not omitting any details.
While the coffee percolates, I warm up the soup Mom sent home with me, making a bowl for Willa and me. When I set it in front of her, she accepts it graciously. Her expression is blank, devoid of emotion. It’s eerie but understandable. I blame her heightened state for what I do next.
“Stand up.” It sounds less harsh in my head, so I’m not offended when Willa stares blankly at me rather than doing as I demand. “Please.”
With guarded emotions, she slowly pushes the chair back and stands. As evidenced by her “oof,” she’s not expecting me to crush her to me.
And that’s exactly what I do.
Hold on to her tightly, like if I let go, she’d float away, never to be seen again.
Her body’s stiff at first, but within moments of my arms encasing her, she melts against me, wrapping her arms around my back, clutching on tight.
No words are exchanged. No words are needed. Our actions say it all.
I allow her the space she needs, except this isn’t all for her.
I don’t do this, take on other people’s emotions. I’m not heartless and have loads of sympathy for people I love. But I’m not usually such an empath. So why the need to take on Willa’s stress and tension? Hell if I can understand it. However, the only thing going to stop the ache in my heart is helping her.
If only she’d let me be her hero.
I balk at the suggestion. Never in a million years would she agree to that. As if she needs a hero who’s her total opposite.
We stand wrapped in each other for what feels like forever. A solid five minutes if I had to guess. When she moves to pull away, I don’t stop her. Moisture pools in the corner of her eyes, but she doesn’t let it escape. Strong in the face of adversity.
“Bet you’re wishing you were a serial killer now, huh?”
With everything going on, I don’t understand her comment immediately, but when it sinks in, I cackle. “So I could do away with you?”
“Well, yeah. I’m a lot more unbalanced than you bargained for.”
“Isn’t that the truth,” I confirm with a laugh. “Turns out, I like unhinged women. Who knew?”
Though I’m uncertain that’s true.
I like an unhinged woman. Singular. One.
Willafred . . . whatever her last name is.
I keep the chatter light over soup, but once we’re finished and move to the living room, the fire I started earlier—at her request—roars, illuminating the room with its embers. What I wouldn’t give to have the tree on as well.
