𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 ~ | 𝘔𝘢𝘹 𝘝𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯

Panic Room

~'~

Max

I waited in the dark room. Seven minutes seemed like nothing until I got inside. Now time seemed to pass twenty times slower. There was nothing for me to do.

Then I heard a small sound.

At first, I didn't think it came from her. Sabrina never made sounds like that. She was too strong. Too stubborn. Too sharp-edged. It had to be something else. But when I strained my eyes through the darkness, the faint, trembling outline of her figure was unmistakable.

Her back was pressed hard against the wall, her shoulders shaking almost imperceptibly, and her hands clamped over her mouth trying to stifle the noise.

"Hawke?" My voice sounded rougher than I meant, but that crack in my chest grew wider the longer I stood there watching her break apart.

Nothing. Not a word. Just a shaky, gasped intake of air, like breathing itself had turned against her.

My heart dropped.

"Sabrina."

She flinched when I said it, as if the sound hurt.

Her back pressed hard against the wall, hands clasped tightly over her mouth, as if she was holding herself together by sheer will. The dim outline of her trembling form hit me harder than any punch could. Something in me shifted, something fierce and urgent.

"Hey," I murmured, taking another step closer. "What's wrong? Talk to me."

"Don't... don't come near me," she stammered, her voice raw and broken. The sound of it gutted me. She was unraveling, fraying at the edges faster than I could reach her.

"Stay away from me," she choked out, her voice raw and trembling.

I should have listened. She probably thought I would. Most people did. But something about the fear woven into those words cut deeper than anything I'd heard before.

I took a step forward, my hand outstretched like I could smooth the jagged edges of her pain away. She gasped, her chest rising and falling too fast, too erratic, like the air wasn't reaching her lungs.

"Don't..." Her voice cracked on the word, barely more than a whisper.

"Sabrina..." I murmured.

God, her name.

It felt heavier now, weighted by the vulnerability in the space between us. I was across the room and still not far enough. But I couldn't do what she asked. Not when she sounded like that. So I ignored her.

She was shaking harder now, tears streaming silently down her face. And before I could think better of it, before her fists or her words could stop me, I closed the distance and pulled her into my arms.

She fought like I knew she would. Her fists pushed against my chest, her nails clawed weakly at my shoulders, but she didn't have her usual fire. She didn't even have enough strength to push me off balance.

"Let me go," she hissed, her voice sharper, angrier, desperate to claw her way out of my grip.

But I didn't let go.

I wouldn't.

"No," I said simply, tightening my hold. "You can fight me all you want. Scratch, punch, scream. I'm not letting go."

She thrashed, each movement a declaration of war against me, against herself, against whatever memories were clawing their way out of her. Her anger was her armor, her way of keeping the world at bay, but I saw through it.