Later that night,
Contrary to what I prayed for, the cramps never left me. The ache remained there, dull, blooming slowly until it wrapped around my stomach like claws. I curled deeper under the covers and willed my body to behave. It didn't. I groaned softly and hugged a pillow to my belly, silently cursing my uterus for being dramatic at the worst possible time.
Sleep had slipped from my reach again, and all I could do was lay there, blinking at the ceiling in the soft dim light. My thoughts floated around, then fixated, on Kieran.
He'd taken care of me.
He didn't have to. But he did.
And not just the tea or the painkillers, or forcing me to drink it like I was a stubborn child (I kind of was). He cooked. He cleaned up after. He noticed things, like my pain, my silence, my damn appetite.
Who the hell was he?
A killer? A criminal? A ghost in the underground?
Or someone who once knew softness... and maybe missed it?
The stew had been amazing. It wasn't just warm, it tasted like care. Like memory. It felt personal. Real.
Still, there was no way he cooked that. Right? Guys like him didn't cook. They ordered food and maybe threatened the delivery guy. I was just about to let it go when I found myself grabbing my phone and searching, "gifts for men who've done something nice for you but might also be dangerous."
Okay. That led to nothing useful.
I sighed and just typed, "gift ideas for men."
I'd gotten Aaron a wallet once. And a keyholder. Boring stuff he never used. But Kieran... no, Kieran was different. He'd probably scoff if I got him a mug or something cheesy. Maybe something practical? Or cool. He seemed like the kind of guy who...
The screen blurred and sleep took over...
I blinked once, twice.
Then everything started slipping.
And suddenly, I wasn't in my room anymore.
I was eight.
The air was cold. And it stank.
I was on the floor, knees pulled to my chest, in the dark, completely dark. The kind of dark that doesn't blink. I could hear them. The rats. Tiny scratching sounds. Little feet. One brushed against my ankle and I screamed.
Nobody came.
Because I wasn't supposed to scream.
I wasn't supposed to cry.
I was supposed to be a good girl, and good girls give up their toys when their little sisters want them.
But I didn't.
So they locked me in here.
All night.
No light. No blankets. Just me and the smell of mold and old paint and rats with too many teeth.
And my stepfather's voice echoing in my head: "Next time, obey faster."
I didn't wake up.
I escaped.
Gasping.
Crying.
Panicking.
The ceiling spun above me as I choked for air, my body locked in that old fear. It wasn't until I clutched my wrist and focused on counting my pulse that I began to breathe again.
I was safe. This wasn't then. This was now.
I was okay.
I wiped my face, forced my legs out from under the blanket, and glanced at the time. Midnight. I needed to pee.
The bathroom tiles were cold, and my cramps still hadn't calmed down. I shuffled back into the hall, pausing by the door to the living room.
He was there.
Sprawled across the couch like some dead mafia prince, one arm over his stomach, chest rising and falling quietly under the faded black tee. His hair was slightly tousled, and his face... his face looked peaceful.
Like someone who didn't expect nightmares.
I stood there a long time.
Just staring.
My fingers twitched. My throat tightened.
I wanted to go to him.
Not even for anything sexual. Just warmth. Safety. Something real to melt into. I knew he wouldn't push me away if I asked... but I couldn't ask. I wasn't ready to admit I needed that.
Still, my body acted before my pride could talk it down.
I crept toward him slowly, step by step, like I was approaching a sleeping lion. I stood beside the couch, staring down at him for a beat too long.
And then?
I knelt on the edge and gently slid down against the couch beside him, careful not to wake him.
My heart thudded as I curled up at the edge of his body, not quite touching him.
But not alone either.
I whispered so softly it almost wasn't a sound.
"Just for a little while."
And let my eyes slip shut.
...
I must've dozed off at some point, the sharp edge of my cramps dulling just enough for my body to shut down. But I wasn't fully asleep either, just floating in that in-between place, where everything feels heavy and far away. My face was pressed against something warm, and my lashes were sticky. I blinked.
"You okay?"
The voice was soft but caught me off guard. I jerked back slightly, only to realize I hadn't even noticed I was crying again.
Kieran's eyes were open now, bleary but alert, narrowed slightly in the darkness. He looked at me like I'd just done something absurd, like shown up with a bloody wound and insisted it was nothing but a scratch.
I tried to laugh it off, wiping at my cheeks hastily. "Oh—I must've been sleepwalking or something. Sorry, I didn't mean to—"
He didn't let me finish. His arm looped around my waist, not rough or demanding, just firm. Final. I felt myself pulled back against him like a lost thing he'd decided to keep close without a word.
"It's fine. You don't have to," I whispered. I didn't know if I meant holding me or pretending not to see how broken I was.
He didn't answer right away. Then his fingers brushed over my hip in a barely-there stroke. "Go to sleep, Kina," he murmured. "You've got work in the morning."
That was it. No questions. No pity. Just that low, slightly raspy command that made something inside me unclench.
I stared at the shadows on the ceiling, guilt tightening around my chest like a vice. Aaron. I wasn't supposed to be here, in another man's arms, letting myself fall apart when someone else was still waiting for pieces of me I hadn't even figured out how to give.
But it's just for tonight, I told myself. Just until I get my head back. Just until I stop trembling.
I pressed my eyes shut and let the silence fall again.