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He dragged me back to the bed and pinned me underneath him, arms trembling.
His forehead was sweaty; his breaths came fast, like he'd run a mile.
His heart hammered audibly — he was terrified.
And yet his expression was dark: "I saw your face change when I said you can't see him. You chose films about that kind. If I'd been a moment later, would you have cut yourself?"
Oh my God, what a colossal misunderstanding.
I tried to explain.
"I didn't want to kill myself. I was just going to throw the shard away because you hadn't cleaned it up."
"Also — your hand. You should treat your cut first…"
I started, but he hugged me tight: "Don't leave me."
His voice softened into a trembling plea.
I felt like he was trying to confirm I existed by holding me.
He rested his chin on my shoulder; his hair brushed my neck and made me laugh from the ticklishness, but I didn't dare.
If I laughed now, it would break him.
His arm tightened, shaking more.
I thought, I'm not a barbed rose — how did I stab him? I wrapped my arms around him too and repeated my explanation.
I wanted to kiss him to soothe his fear, but he wouldn't look up, so how could I?
After a while, his trembling eased. He didn't mention Caleb anymore; instead he muttered, "I'll stay here with you."
Stay?
I blinked.
He took his phone and seemed to order a few things; when he opened the door again, there was a first-aid kit and a laptop at the entrance.
He would now be working from the bedroom.
There was also a cleaning robot to sweep the corners so nothing would be left behind.
He'd heard me mention cleanliness after all — or had he only partly heard? Regardless, the room was tidier now.
