Forest

Chapter Sixteen

Her breathing slowed, each rise and fall of her chest growing less frantic, but her eyes—her eyes told a different story. They remained sharp, darting with a readiness that betrayed her fear. Though her body rested against mine—legs wrapped around my torso, head against my chest—I could feel the stiffness in her muscles. The warm water from the shower continued to pour over us, a steady rhythm in the tense silence.

Her panic attack had gripped her like a storm, relentless and devastating, and now we were in the quiet aftermath. I could still feel the tension radiating from her body, an invisible barrier that no warmth could penetrate. She didn't trust me. Maybe never. And I couldn't blame her.

It had taken a long time for her to calm down, and even now, she was only barely there. Her body still resisted, brimming with distrust. I understood. I didn't know what to say; I was afraid of making it worse, afraid of scaring her more than I already had. So I waited. I'd been sitting here for... how long? I didn't know. But the first move had to be hers. I needed her to signal when she was ready—whether by word or action. 

Time passed, though I couldn't say how much. The water drummed against us, a steady rhythm that filled the space between us. Finally, she stirred, lifting her head from my chest just enough to meet my eyes. The look in hers was searching, hesitant, and gone too quickly as she let her head fall back against me. Her small hands gripped my shoulders—not tightly, but with a cautious kind of strength, like she was testing if I'd pull away or hold steady.

Then she moved, her body sliding away from mine as she pushed herself toward the other side of the shower. I didn't stop her. I wouldn't dare. She settled into a mirrored position—legs crossed, arms wrapped loosely around herself. Her gaze locked onto mine, unyielding, and I felt the weight of it like a tangible thing.

We sat in silence. We just sat there, staring at each other. The water cascaded over us, warm and unrelenting, but it did nothing to wash away the tension.  She brushed her wet hair back from her face, her movements deliberate and slow,  but her focus never wavering.

'Are... are you okay?' I finally asked, my voice barely above a whisper. It cracked, betraying emotions I didn't fully understand

She didn't answer. Her eyes stayed fixed on me, wary amd unreadable. A frustrated growl escaped my throat, but I forced it down. I couldn't afford to let it out. Not now. Not after the way she had screamed, begged me not to hurt her. The sound of it still echoed in my mind, cutting deeper than I thought possible. I couldn't risk pushing her back into that dark place.

Her lips moved suddenly, faint and soundless, like she was trying to speak but couldn't find the words. My ears strained, catching the faintest melody. Was she mouthing the words to a song? From the bedroom, I could hear the distant hum of music from the TV. A small, unbidden smile tugged at the corner of my lips. She was singing—silently, but still.

"You like music?" I asked softly, hoping to coax more out of her. Again, there was no response. I was getting used to it, though it still stung. She didn't like answering me—at least not when it came to anything personal. Occasionally, she would, but only if the question was impersonal, neutral. Safe.

Then, a single word broke through the quiet. "Cold." Her voice was soft, trembling, but clear. Her eyes stayed on me, the tiniest flicker of something—vulnerability? trust?—in their depths.

I nodded, keepinh my movements slow and deliberate. "Let's dry off and get you some clean clothes," I said genlty. My tone was as steady as I could make it, though my mind raced to anticipate what she might need. She didn't respond, but her gaze shifted, scanning the small shower space like she was calculating her next move. When her hand found the safety bar, I realized she was trying to stand.

I pushed myself upright first, bracing against the wall to avoid startling her. Once I was standing, I extended my hand toward her instinctively. Her reaction was immediate—her eyes widened with fear, and she shrank back.

"No," she whispered, her voice trembling.

I froze, then pulled my hand back as if burned. My stomach twisted painfully at the sight of her terror. I took a small step back, giving her space. She struggled to her feet on her own, every movement slow and labored, her pain evident in the way she winced and hesitated.

"Let me help you," I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. "Please. You're hurt. I can see it."

She hesitated, her body stiff and her expression torn between distrust and exhaustion. "Soft," she said finally, her voice trembling. "No harm, please.""

The words hit me like a blow. I nodded,swallowing the lumo in my throat. 'No harm.' I promised, my voice steady despite the choas inside me.

I stepped closer carefully with deliberate slowness. Only then did I notice how small she was—she didn't even reach my shoulders. Slowly, I lifted her, cradling her as gently as I could. She flinched at first, her body trembling in my arms, but then she wrapped her arms around my neck. Her heart pounded against me, fast and erratic.

I carried her to the sink and set her down gently on her feet in front of it, letting her take off the damp boxers she was wearing. I didn't look down. After that I putted her on top of the sink.I turned away, giving her privacy, and handed her a towel without looking at her. When she signaled she was dressed, I glanced back to see her in the oversized sweater, the boxer on her knees, I helped her back on her feet, so she could pull the boxer up. They dwarfed her small frame, making her look even more fragile than before. I sat her down again on the sink before leaving her their for a few minutes so I could clean the bed. 

Afterward, I cleaned the bed quickly, swapping the damp sheets for fresh ones while she sat silently on the sink, lost in thought. The panic acttack had taken everything out og her. She didn't react as I walked in and out of the room, her hands rubbing at her eyes in exhaustion. I held her close, her head resting against my chest as I carried her to the bed.

Without a word, I scooped her up again. This time, she didn't flinch as much, though her body remained tense. I held her close, her head resting against my chest as I carried her to the bed.

'Let's get you some rest,' I murmured, tucking her in. I wrapped the blanket snugly around her, cocooning her in its warmth.

She didn't respond, her gaze fixed on the ceiling as if it held some unseen story. I stayed for a moment, watching her. Her breathing began to even out, her eyelids fluttering closed. She looked so small, so vulnerable, and I felt a pang of something sharp and unfamiliar—regret? Guilt? Whatever it was, it lodged itself deep in my chest.The panic attack had drained her completely. As her breathing slowed, her face softened, and she finally slipped into the stillness of sleep. I stayed for a moment longer, watching the way the blanket rose and fell with her steady breaths, before quietly stepping back into the shadows of the room.