CHAPTER 17: He Sat on My Bed
(Betty's POV)
"I see it. Do not move."
Adrain's hand is on my shoulder. His voice is low. Quiet.
The car is across the street. Dark windows. Engine off.
"Who is it?" I whisper.
"I do not know yet."
He moves to the window. He stands to the side. He pulls the curtain back just enough to see.
I hold my breath.
"It is leaving," he says.
I exhale.
The car pulls away. Slow. Too slow. Like the driver wants us to see them leave.
Adrain watches until the car disappears around the corner.
Then he lets the curtain fall.
"Stay away from the windows tonight," he says.
"Who was it?"
"I said I do not know."
"You are lying."
He looks at me. His dark eyes. Hard.
"I am not lying. I am protecting you."
"Same thing."
"No. It is not."
He walks to the living room. He sits on the couch. He does not turn on the lights.
I watch him from the kitchen.
He is back to being the stranger who bled on my floor.
The silence returns.
Heavier than before.
I go to my room. I close the door. I do not lock it.
I lie on my bed. I stare at the ceiling.
I think about the car. The dark windows. The slow drive away.
I think about the blood on his shirt.
I think about the way he looked at me when he said "I am protecting you."
I fall asleep sometime after midnight.
And then I am falling.
The car. The glass. The blood.
My mother's hand. Reaching for me.
My father's voice. Calling my name.
Then nothing.
I wake up screaming.
The sound tears out of my throat. Raw. Loud. Terrifying.
I am sitting up in bed. My hands are shaking. My face is wet. My heart is pounding so hard I cannot breathe.
The door opens.
Adrain is there.
He does not ask if I am okay. He does not tell me to calm down.
He walks to my bed.
He sits on the edge.
He does not touch me.
He just stays.
I stare at him. My chest is heaving. My tears are falling.
He does not look away.
"The car," he says. "The crash. Your parents."
I nod.
I cannot speak.
"You were in the car," he says.
I nod again.
"You saw everything."
I close my eyes.
The glass. The blood. The silence after.
I open my eyes.
He is still there. Still watching. Still not touching me.
"How do you know?" I whisper.
"Because I have nightmares too," he says. "Different ones. But the same feeling."
"What feeling?"
"Being alone. Even when people are right there."
I look at him.
His dark eyes. His pale face. His scarred hands.
He is not a stranger anymore.
He is someone who understands.
"The car was not your fault," he says.
"I know."
"Then why do you still dream about it?"
I look down at my hands.
"Because I should have died too."
He is quiet.
Then, softly, "No. You should not have."
I look at him.
"You do not know that."
"I know that I am glad you did not."
My heart stops.
He looks at me. Those dark eyes. So tired. So heavy. So full of something I cannot name.
"I am glad you did not die, Betty," he says. "Because then I would still be alone."
I feel tears slide down my cheeks.
He does not wipe them away.
He does not move closer.
He just sits there.
On the edge of my bed.
Not touching me.
Just staying.
I lie back down.
I stare at the ceiling.
He does not leave.
Minutes pass.
Maybe hours.
I do not know.
But he is still there when I close my eyes.
And he is still there when I open them again.
The morning light is gray through the window.
He is sitting in the same spot. On the edge of my bed. His back is straight. His eyes are on the window.
He did not sleep.
He just stayed.
"Adrain," I say.
He looks at me.
"Thank you," I whisper.
He nods.
He stands up.
He walks to the door.
He stops.
He does not turn around.
"You are not alone, Betty," he says. "Not anymore."
He leaves.
The door closes.
I sit up.
My face is dry. My hands are steady.
The nightmare is still there. It will always be there.
But something is different now.
I am not alone.
And neither is he.