blurred lines in a forbidden fairytale

{42} you'll be alright, no one can hurt you now

Taylor's POV:

The door to my apartment creaks open, and I hold it steady, trying not to startle her. Sarah clings to my arm like it's the only thing keeping her upright, her small hands trembling against my sleeve. She hasn't let go since we left her house. Every step inside feels heavy with tension, the weight of everything we've been through pressing on my chest.

"It's okay," I whisper, nudging the door shut softly behind us. "You're safe here. No one can hurt you."

Sarah doesn't answer, just buries her face against my side. Her breathing is shallow and quick, and every tiny noise—the groan of the floorboards, the hum of the fridge—makes her flinch. I swallow hard, forcing my own unease down. She needs me calm.

"Look," I say gently, crouching so we're eye to eye. "This is my place. It's not much, but it's ours for tonight. You don't have to be afraid anymore, okay?"

Her wide, tear-glazed eyes meet mine, and for a second, I think she might believe me. But then there's another creak from the hallway behind us, and she jerks back like someone's about to grab her.

I stand quickly, putting myself between her and the noise. "Hey, hey, it's just the building. It's a little old," I reassure her, reaching out to touch her shoulder. She shrinks at first but doesn't pull away entirely. "I promise, no one's here but me and you. You're safe."

Her voice is barely above a whisper. "What if... what if they come? What if they find me?"

"They won't." My words come out sharper than I intend, and I immediately soften my tone. "I won't let them, Sarah. No one's going to take you back there. Ever. I'll make sure of it."
She studies me like she's trying to decide if she can trust me, her small hands twisting nervously in the hem of her oversized hoodie. It's not even hers—one of the officers gave it to her after they saw how dirty her clothes were. My stomach tightens just thinking about it.

"Are you hungry?" I ask, changing the subject. "I could make something simple, maybe some grilled cheese or—"

"I'm not hungry," she says quickly, cutting me off. Her voice is tight, and she looks at the floor, as if speaking more than a few words will draw unwanted attention.

"Okay," I say softly. "That's okay. But if you change your mind, the kitchen's right there." I point across the small living room, trying to show her she has options, control. "You can have whatever you want. This is your space too."
Sarah hesitates, then nods slightly. She doesn't move, though, just stands in the middle of the room like she's afraid to take up space. My heart twists.

"Come on," I say gently, motioning to the couch. "Let's sit down. You don't have to stand there all night."

She hesitates again but eventually follows me to the couch. I sit first, keeping a bit of distance, hoping she'll feel less cornered. After a moment, she perches on the edge of the cushion, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
The silence stretches, broken only by the faint buzz of the streetlights outside. I want to say something, anything, to ease the tension, but I'm terrified of saying the wrong thing. She's so fragile right now—one wrong word could shatter her completely.

"I'm scared," she whispers suddenly, her voice cracking.

I look at her, my throat tightening. "I know," I say. "And it's okay to be scared. After everything you've been through... anyone would be. But you're not alone anymore, Sarah. I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere."
Her eyes well up with tears, and for a moment, I think she's going to cry. But instead, she surprises me—she leans into my side, pressing her head against my shoulder. I freeze, not sure if I should move, but then I slowly wrap an arm around her.