It's the first time in a week I've felt present in my body instead of trapped in memories. The first time the present has been stronger than the past.
When it's over, I rest my head on his thigh for a moment, catching my breath, feeling his fingers thread through my hair—tender and soothing and real.
"Come here," he murmurs softly, voice wrecked.
I climb back onto the bed and he pulls me close with his good arm, presses a kiss to my forehead that lingers. We lie there in silence for a few minutes, just breathing together, his heartbeat steady and strong beneath my ear through the thin hospital gown.
"You've been very agreeable lately," he observes finally, voice thoughtful, still a bit breathless.
The words hit wrong. Make something twist violently in my gut, like a knife turning.
Agreeable.
A flash—Marcus's voice in my ear, bourbon-thick and threatening.Stop being difficult. Just be agreeable and this'll go easier for both of us. Come on, baby. Don't make me work for it.
His hand on my throat—not squeezing but resting there, thumb pressing against my pulse point. My heart hammering so hard I thought it would burst. The certainty that if I didn't fight back, didn't do something, anything, I wouldn't survive the night.
"Val?" Xavier's voice cuts through the memory like a blade. "You okay?"
I sit up abruptly, too fast, heart racing like I've been running. "Yeah. Fine. I just—do you want a snack? From the vending machine? I'm going to get a snack."
"Valentina—"
"What kind do you want?" I'm already off the bed, smoothing down my shirt with shaking hands, not looking at him because if I look at him he'll see it, see the truth written on my face. "Chips? Candy bar? They have those gross protein bars you like—the chocolate peanut butter ones?—"
"What's wrong?" he asks, and there's real concern bleeding into his voice now, sharp and immediate.
"Nothing. My throat's just dry. Need electrolytes." The lie comes easily now, worn smooth from a week of constant use. "I'll be right back."
I'm out the door before he can stop me, walking too fast down the corridor, nearly colliding with a nurse pushing a medication cart. I mumble an apology without stopping, past other visitors and patients shuffling in robes and slippers, past the nurses' station where someone's arguing about discharge paperwork.
The vending machine is at the end of the hall, tucked into a small alcove near the elevators. It's afternoon—the sun streaming through the large windows at an angle that makes everythinglook washed out and overexposed. Everything feels too bright, too sharp, too present.
I lean my forehead against the cool glass of the machine, closing my eyes, trying to breathe through the tightness in my chest. The glass is cold, slightly greasy, probably hasn't been cleaned in days.
Agreeable.
Another flash, stronger this time. The alley behind the club, rain turning everything slick and dark. Marcus's weight pinning me against the rough brick wall, scraping my back through my thin dress. His laugh when I tried to push him away, tried to get past him—that awful, mocking sound.Come on, baby. Don't be like that. Just relax and be agreeable. I know you want this. Xavier told me all about how much of a tease you are.
The pipe in my hand—cold, heavy, rusted metal that scraped my palm. The desperate swing. The sound of impact—wet and final and wrong, a sound I'll never unhear.
God, the sound.
"Val?"
I jerk upright violently, heart hammering, breath coming in gasps. My vision swims for a second before focusing.
Zay stands there a few feet away, concern etched deep into every line of his face, dark eyes searching mine. He takes a careful step closer, movements slow like he's approaching something that might bolt. He presses a kiss to my temple—gentle, familiar, grounding.
But I'm still in the memory, still feeling Marcus's hands on me, his weight crushing me against the wall, and I shove Zay awaywithout thinking. Hard. Hard enough that he stumbles back a step, catches himself against the wall.
"Don't," I gasp, chest heaving. "Don't touch me."
He freezes immediately, hands coming up in surrender, palms out. "Okay. Okay, I'm not touching you. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."
I shake my head violently, trying to clear it, trying to drag myself back to the present. The hospital. The vending machine. Zay. Not Marcus. Not the alley. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean?—"
"What's going on?" he asks quietly, carefully, like he's defusing a bomb. "And don't say nothing. You've been off all week. Jumpy as hell. Avoiding everyone except Xavier."