Page 76 of Trust

Cash holds me firm without causing pain. He gives me a brief squeeze, reminding me he’s there.

There’s a shift within me. The resistance drains away. My fight falters. I manage slow inhales and concentrate on longer exhales until both even out.

Chris steps into my space. His voice softens. “Now think. You’re in it. Keep your head clear. How do you get out?”

I don’t rush. Cash’s arm is locked across my middle, his wrist at my ribs. My right arm is trapped, the left one less so. I’m not strong enough to break his grip. So I don’t try. I go limp, letting my dead weight sag against him. His balance shifts just enough to force an adjustment. I tuck my chin and twist my head to the side, loosening his fingers at my throat. Using that tiny bit of leverage, I pivot my hips and shove my elbow back into the softer spot beneath his rib cage. With a grunt, he releases me.

I stumble forward, bracing on my knees. My hair falls over my face and hides it. I’m drained, as if a piece of me has been wrung out. My hands are still trembling; a metallic taste invades my mouth. I focus on the ground and on the slow rhythm returning to my chest.

Chris crouches beside me and lays a hand on my back. “You did good,” he praises.

My legs are leaden and my throat constricted, but I stand anyway. There’s no point pretending I’m fine. They already know I’m not.

I turn toward the cabin, choosing solitude, wanting solitude so I can fall apart without anyone watching. The tears blur my vision, close to falling.

I don’t get far.

Three steps in, boots hit the ground behind me. They’re close, moving in sync with mine.

They won’t let me walk this off alone.

They won’t let me pretend this didn’t crack me open.

AFTERSHOCK

Cash

She bolts. Her feet are on the stairs before she’s even halfway across the porch. She doesn’t slam the door or say a word. She disappears.

Stix stays silent, gives me a look that says, “Go.”

So I do.

I take the stairs one step at a time. No rush now. It’s not a chase, it’s a process.

Outside the bathroom, I tilt my head toward the door. She stifles her whimpers. Each ragged inhale makes her agony mine. She’s trying to hold it in, to keep us out.

I knock, gently.

“Sara, open the door.”

Nothing. I wait.

The lock is engaged, but she doesn’t know it’s a trick one. Stix made sure it can be opened from the outside. I could be in there in seconds.

I knock again. “Come on. Let me in.”

Still no response.

Every instinct says push, fix it, kick the damn door down, but I told myself I’d do this differently. No scaring her more than she already is. I’ll wait her out. Even if it goes against everything in me. I pace, running through the same breathing technique from before. We didn’t teach her bullshit. That stuff actually works.

A few long minutes crawl past.

The door opens. She stands there with her arms folded, eyes low, her whole body taut, held together by sheer will.

“Why would you do that to me?” she whispers.

The words aren’t loud, but they land hard. Knowing they were coming doesn’t soften the blow.