Delilah Pierce didn't have the best home life, and when in school she tended to blend in with the crowd. She didn't mind it though, she was perfectly content with her 2 friends and her brother.
But what happens when she comes back to her six year a...
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He's got me.
But the truth is, I don't feel it.
His arms are strong and warm, steady in a way my own body hasn't been for days, maybe weeks — but warmth doesn't reach me anymore. Not the way it used to. Not the way it should. I know he's carrying me, I know the motion of each step, the way his chest rises and falls against my cheek, but it's like I'm watching it from somewhere else. Somewhere far away.
The scent of him is there — faint cinnamon — and I know it should make me feel safe. It used to. Now it's just... there.
My fingers are curled around his shirt, not gripping, just resting. They don't have the strength to hold on, but they're there because I don't know where else to put them.
The hallways we pass are unfamiliar. Too clean. Too bright. Too loud in their silence. I keep my eyes on a point over his shoulder, a white wall with some shadow shifting across it, and I make the shadow my whole world so I don't have to think about anything else.
He keeps murmuring something. My name, maybe. A steady stream of words that don't quite reach me. I catch fragments.
"...you're okay... I've got you... safe now..."
Safe.
The word is meaningless. Safe was a word I used to know, but it's gone now, carved out of me.
We enter a room. I don't move my head to look around, but I can hear the air change — softer, quieter, like the world's been padded. A bed creaks as he sets me down, slow, careful, like I might shatter. Maybe I will.
His hands leave me for just a second and then they're back, pulling a blanket over me. It's heavier than I expect, smelling faintly of lavender. He tucks it around my shoulders, fingers brushing my hair away from my face.
"Delilah." His voice is low, steady, but there's something behind it. Something tight. "Can you look at me?"
I don't.
He waits. I can feel him waiting. The silence stretches until it's too big to bear, and then his hand finds mine under the blanket. He squeezes once, twice, like he's reminding me I'm still here.
"I know you can hear me," he says, softer now. "You don't have to talk. You don't have to do anything. Just... stay with me, alright?"
Stay.
Another word that feels hollow. My mind drifts anyway.
The ceiling above me blurs into stone. Damp. Cold. The sound of water dripping — steady, like a clock I can't stop hearing. Kay's voice, quiet, tired. My own voice, brittle. My chest tightens before I can stop it.
