Reid
Iswear to God, I never planned for this to happen.
I never expected to find a fucking dildo tucked underneath Sierra's blanket.
I came to check in on her after the panicky morning she’d had. I don’t know what set her off, but she’d been distracted and jittery at breakfast, and it had worried me.
Worried enough to question letting her come here in the first place.
I wanted to help her deal with the past. Show her she doesn’t have to bury everything forever—that peace is possible, even if it takes time.
But so far, all I’ve done is make things worse.
Maybe she’s not ready. Or maybe I handled this completely wrong, springing it on her out of nowhere.
I wasn’t honest with her from the start. Didn’t tell her who I was, even though I knew exactly who she was.
We haven’t talked about our past. I haven’t owned up to the shit I did—shit that probably helped make her the way she is now.
Closed off. Defensive. Always braced for the worst.
She had a chip on her shoulder before, sure—but not like this. Not this deep.
I did that.
I thought leaving would help her. I was wrong—it didn’t.
It made her worse.
And that guilt is what’s driving me now.
I can’t find her anywhere on the property, and I’m scared she might’ve bolted—car or no car—and tried to make her way down the mountain.
So, I check her room.
I knock. “Sierra? You in there?”
No answer. I should walk away. If she wants to talk, she would’ve answered.
Unless she can’t.
Unless something’s seriously wrong.
Sleep paralysis. Panic attack. She used to get both.
What if she’s trapped?
That was enough.
“I’m coming in,” I call, pushing the door open. “Sierra?”
Silence. No one here.
Her bag’s still here, so she can’t have gone far.
I should leave, but I don’t. Instead, I stay, keep looking around.
I rummage through her space, looking for anything that might help me understand.