“You know,” she said, leaning against the island, “when I was seventeen, my parents split, and I had to move in with my aunt across the country. New school, new house, new people. I felt like an alien trying to pass for human.”
She smiled a little, sad and warm all at once. “It’s okay to not be fine, Harper. Big changes are hard, even when they’re for the better.”
My eyes started stinging.
Because what the fuck do you do with that? With someone who’s actually kind and means it? She didn’t try to manipulate me or make passive-aggressive digs about how I should be grateful. She was just... kind.
Like that was normal.
Like I deserved it.
Then she stepped closer and wrapped her arms around me.
And it wasn’t awkward or forced. She justhuggedme. Like she knew I needed a hug, so she gave me one. Simple as that.
For a second—one dangerous, traitorous second—I let myself lean into it. Let myself believe I could belong to someone who gave a damn.
She smelled like lavender and warm cotton.
She smelledsafe.
Darlene never smelled like that. She smelled like gin and drugstore perfume some guy bought her as an afterthought.
But Helen? She felt like the version of a mom I used to imagine when I was a kid and still thought someone might come rescue me. Back before I learned that rescue was a fairy tale and the only person who’d save me was myself.
I pulled back fast, voice stiff and defensive. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”
I left her standing in the kitchen with her tea and that worried look on her face. Watching me run away from the first real maternal affection I’d ever been offered.
That night, alone in my room with Sox curled on my chest, I cried.
Not the angry tears I’m used to. Not the frustrated, fuck-the-world tears that feel like armor.
Just... sad. Grieving for something I never had. Terrified of something I might be starting to want.
And I hated myself for it.
Because survivors don’t cry about hugs.
Survivors don’tneedhugs.
Helen felt like this fully mammalian thing—all warm and soft and instinctively loving—trying to connect with me, a cold-blooded lizard creature.
Reptiles don’t need warmth from others. They sun themselves on rocks and stay self-sufficient.
That’s what I told myself that night, anyway, while Sox purred against my chest and I snuggled her warm body close.
And now I’m watching Caleb through the windowlike the full-blown creeper I’ve become. Because I’ve wandered back to the window even though it’s the last place I should be.
I lean closer to the glass when Caleb bends over the engine again.
Sweat gleams on his back, sliding along the ridges of muscle down his spine. His shoulders flex as he shifts position. His jeans tighten across his ass in a way that makes my mouth go dry.
This is torture.
Sex has always been liberation to me. Freedom. Heat and friction and the raw animal pleasure of it with no strings attached.Mybody getting satisfaction onmyterms.
But this?