Page 119 of Heimlock

His voice is full of despair as he says, “I’m disgusting.”

It makes me cry harder. “No, you’re not.”

“If you stay, you’ll probably die, too.”

“Then I’ll haunt you,” I say fiercely. I have no idea what that means, but I hug him tighter anyway. My hands are going numb from my desperate clutching.

“I’m not worth loving, Kyrielle,” he whispers, the fight going out of him. Between my arms, his muscles sag.

“And yet, I’m here, loving you, Trinte.”

At that, something seems to break inside him. Big, warm arms wrap around me, pressing me into his broad chest. Relief has me crying harder. He’s alive.

“I’m not worth it,” he whispers, voice cracking.

I raise my head to look at his anguished expression. With as much ferocity as I can muster, I say, “You’re worth it to me.”

His face crumples, and this enormous giant of a man sobs. Wriggling out of his grasp, I turn around and close the door. When he falls to the ground in a distraught heap, I go with him. As he curls into himself, I rest his head in my lap, stroking his hair, wiping away my tears as they plop onto his forehead.

His keening sobs sound like he’s being ripped in half; my soul aches in recognition. Each grieving whimper and every convulsing sob, I hold Trinte as he unravels years of anguish; of abuse. Something tells me no one has ever done this for him.

How much has he shoved down, hidden from the world; hidden from himself?

Trinte’s arms wrap around my waist, mooring himself to my soothing touch. As his sobs turn to plaintive whimpers, I continue stroking his hair and begin telling him all ‌the things that I love and admire about him. Every way he’s made me feel loved and seen.

We spend an unknown amount of hours there on the floor, past sunset and into the darkness of night.

A cocoon of heartbreak and trauma.

48

She came for me. She came for me. She came for me. She came for me. She came for me. She came for me. She came for me. She came for me. She came for me. She came for me. She came for me. She came for me. She came for me. She came for me. She came for me. She came for me.

I love her.

49

It’s the middle of the night by the time Trinte stirs in my lap. He passed out a couple of hours ago, having cried himself to sleep. To busy my mind, I’ve been staring at the most hideous painting on the wall: two pegasus bonded together at the bellies, with four legs and horrified expressions. It’s so out of place in this sparse apartment.

My body aches from sitting on the floor, bowing over his head, but I don’t care.

“What time is it?” he croaks out, eyes still closed.

I run fingers through the worn tracks in his tresses. “I’m not sure. You don’t have a clock nearby.”

With a groan, he rolls onto his back, staring at me.

I smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he rasps, voice gone from the otherworldly sounds he released. “I have the worst fucking headache in existence.”

Bringing fingers to his temples, I make small circles. He closes his eyes, humming in appreciation. “You probably need sustenance. Real sleep.”

“Can we stay here forever?” he whispers.

My smile widens. “My ass went numb three hours ago. Can we at least transfer to the couch?”

Trinte opens his eyes again. In the dark, the orb glows faintly.