I don’t remember the drive home.
Not really.
I remember fragments. Streetlights smearing into soft gold lines across the windshield. The low murmur of voices that never quite reached meaning. Damian’s hand steady on mine, thumb brushing my knuckles in a slow, repetitive motion like he was counting breaths for both of us.
Then there’s the apartment.
The quiet.
The kind of quiet that isn’t peaceful yet, just empty.
I’m dimly aware of being eased onto the bed, of shoes being removed I don’t recall taking off, of a blanket pulled up around my shoulders. Someone says my name. Maybe more than once. I answer at least once, because Damian is there, his face close, his eyes scanning mine like he’s checking for fractures only he can see.
Then sleep takes me under.
Not gently.
I wake choking
