Page 145 of Graves

While he stands under the hot water once more, I step out, peel off my soaked clothes, and slip into a T-shirt and black sweatpants.

I return to the bathroom and hand Koh a big towel. While he sits on the closed toilet lid, I dry his wet hair with a smaller one. I then take my brush and comb through his black strands.

I like his hair. It’s just as wild and unruly as mine. When he ties it back, he looks like a model. The obsessive, uptight doctor I saw in him at the beginning has long since disappeared.

Was I the one who helped him break out of those chains?

Little by little, Koh has thawed and opened up to me. He even took me on one of his dog walks.

I was the idiot who pushed him away—straight back into Luke’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “I didn’t want to drive you away. I was an asshole.”

When Koh lowers his head and rests his forehead on my shoulder, seeking my closeness, I fold him into my arms.

“No,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I don’t even know…” Words fail him, which clearly scares him, because he lifts his head again and glances around like he’s lost his bearings.

This is all Luke’s fault!

I want to shout it out loud, but I don’t want to pour gasoline on the fire. The guilt Koh feels has nothing to do with what almost happened earlier—I’m sure of that.

Luke is a master manipulator and deliberately tried to drive Koh to his death out of pure malice. He probably doesn’t actually want him in prison, because then he couldn’t feed off his misery anymore. People like him—and like Ben—get a sense of power from controlling others.

I know the terror that kind of situation can create—when you realize you’ve lost control of your own life, the reins have slipped from your hands, and you’re being steered by outside forces.

“Come on,” I say, stepping toward my bed. I pull the blanket back and motion for Koh to sit. From the closet, I grab a T-shirt and some gray sweatpants for him to wear.

He manages that on his own while I hang the towel back in the bathroom. When I return, Koh is already lying on his side with his legs drawn up to his chest.

I lie down behind him. Close. I wrap one arm around his waist and slide the other under his head.

Koh makes a small sound, a sad little sigh, so I hold him even tighter against me.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” I whisper in his ear. “I’m sure of it.”

I hope so badly.

God! What do I have to do to make that true?

He eventually relaxes in my arms.

It brings a little serenity back to me as well. As if everything might actually be okay.

I don’t know if Koh has fallen asleep, but when I try to get up, he turns toward me.

“Stay with me.” His voice is barely a whisper, the plea more breath than words, full of fear and uncertainty.

We lie forehead to forehead, and I feel his warm breath on my lips. I tenderly caress his damp hair and massage the back of his head.

“I’m staying right here. With you,” I promise.

Just looking at him, surrounded by his scent, helps me through the withdrawal. His closeness gives me strength, and the rest of the world no longer matters. We lie together on the bed in the darkness, with only the light between us shining.

I cuddle Koh tighter into my arms, protecting him while also clinging to him. I never want to let him go again.

He belongs to me.

But can I take care of him?