Chapter 4
The first thing I became aware of was the warmth beneath me. It was a soft, steady kind of warmth, like being tucked into a blanket, except I wasn't in bed. I blinked my eyes open and realized I was lying across someone's lap. For a moment, I thought I was still dreaming. But when I felt a thumb brushing against my forehead, it snapped me back to reality.
I groaned, rubbing my eyes and squinting up at the figure above me. It was Evan. He was sitting on the couch with me sprawled across his lap, his hand resting on my head, gently smoothing back my hair.
"Good morning, Barty," he said, his voice low and amused.
I could feel the faint remnants of last night's hangover crawling up my spine like a bad memory. My head was pounding, my mouth dry, and my body felt like it had been run over by a bus. It took everything in me to sit up, but Evan didn’t let me go too far. His hand was warm against my back, steadying me.
“Yeah, yeah, don’t make a big deal out of it, Rosie,” I grumbled, wincing at the sound of my own voice. My tongue felt like sandpaper, and I was pretty sure I could taste the alcohol on my breath still. I don’t know how much I drank last night. I don’t know how much of it I wanted to remember.
Evan didn’t laugh at me, though. He just looked down at me with that quiet, steady gaze of his. There was a flicker of something in his eyes, something soft, but it was gone so quickly I couldn’t really catch it. Maybe it was pity. Maybe it was just concern. Either way, I didn’t need that. I didn't want it.
“Here,” Evan said, suddenly pulling me into a sitting position and handing me a glass of water. I took it from him, though my hands were a little unsteady. I sipped at it, trying to ignore the way my stomach was rebelling against me. He hadn’t said anything, but I could feel him watching me. I wasn’t an idiot. I knew he was probably thinking about how much I drank last night.
That thought made my stomach twist. "How much did I drink last night?" I muttered, my voice rough. I didn't even want to hear the answer.
Evan didn't immediately respond. He just watched me for a beat, his eyes flicking down to the half empty glass in my hand before meeting my gaze again. “Enough to make today feel like a total wreck,” he said, his voice quiet, but it wasn’t unkind.
I frowned. I wasn’t in the mood for honesty today.
“Can we not talk about it?” I muttered, glancing away. “I’m fine, alright? I’m just... tired.”
Evan’s gaze lingered for a moment longer, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was seeing straight through me, that he could tell I was full of shit. I don’t know how he did it, but Evan had this uncanny ability to just know when I was bullshitting.
“Okay,” he said finally, letting it go. “But if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here.”
I didn’t say anything to that. I didn’t know how to. So, I just sank back into the couch, wishing the world would stop spinning.
It felt like the minutes dragged on. I could hear Evan moving around in the apartment, though I couldn’t focus enough to actually see what he was doing. All I knew was that every time I blinked, I felt more and more exhausted.
Finally, Evan broke the silence again. “Alright, you’re a mess. I’m going to get you some food. You’re going to eat something, and you’re going to try to not be a brat about it.”
I rolled my eyes, but I didn’t argue. “I’m not a brat,” I muttered, though we both knew I was.
Evan just smiled, that stupid smile of his. "Whatever you say, Barty." He made his way to the kitchen, and I was left sitting there, wondering how the hell I got to this point. How had I ended up on his lap, in my apartment, with him taking care of me like this?
I wasn't used to this. The attention. The care. Hell, I wasn’t used to anyone giving a damn about me, not like this. And I sure as hell didn’t deserve it.
When Evan returned, he had a plate of food in his hands. It was simple, just bacon and toast, but I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until the smell hit me. My stomach growled loudly, and I felt the tiniest bit of embarrassment flare up.
Evan set the plate on the table in front of me, but I didn’t move at first. I just stared at the food, trying to ignore the lump in my throat.
"Eat," Evan said, sitting down next to me. "It’ll help. You need it."
I didn’t respond, not at first. I wasn’t really in the mood to eat, especially with the way my body felt. But, after a moment, I reached for the bacon, picking up a piece with shaky fingers. I took a bite.
It wasn’t the greatest thing I’d ever had, but it was enough to remind me that I was still alive. I ate it, slowly, silently, as Evan watched me with a patience that made my stomach twist again.
When the plate was empty, I leaned back against the couch, feeling slightly less like death. Evan was still next to me, doing something. I couldn’t be bothered to keep track of it. But then he stopped, and I felt his eyes on me again.
His voice was quieter this time. "You know, your place is a disaster, right?"
I groaned, rubbing my eyes. "It’s fine," I said, though the mess in the apartment was far from fine. Bottles, empty and half empty, littered the corners of the room. Clothes were strewn about. The place was a wreck.
Evan didn’t take my dismissal. He just stood up and started gathering things. He started picking up the bottles, throwing them in a bag, and picking up trash as he moved around.
“Damn, Barty,” Evan muttered. “How much have you been drinking?”
I hated the question. I hated it more than anything, and I just wanted to shut it down before it became something more. “I don’t want to talk about it,” I said, my voice sharp. “Just leave it, okay?”
Evan paused in his movements, turning his head to look at me. There was a brief moment where his gaze softened, and I hated that, too.
"I’m not trying to be nosy, Barty," Evan said, his voice gentle, "but I’m just worried about you."
I clenched my jaw, fighting the impulse to snap at him. Instead, I just looked away. “Just drop it, Rosie,” I muttered.
Evan didn’t argue. He just nodded, going back to cleaning. But I could feel his concern in the way he moved around the room, in the way he didn’t leave me alone.
Eventually, Evan finished cleaning up, and when I finally decided to get up, he helped me, steadying me when my legs felt like they might give out.
“I’m gonna get you to shower,” he said, the firmness in his voice leaving no room for argument.
I wanted to protest. I wanted to snap at him to leave me the hell alone, but I didn’t. I didn’t have the energy.
So, I just let him guide me to the bathroom, let him stand outside the door while I took a quick shower. When I came out, he was still there, handing me a clean towel and some fresh clothes.
I didn’t say anything as I changed, but when I came out, Evan was sitting on the couch again, waiting for me.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and gentle.
I wanted to lie. I wanted to tell him I was fine, that everything was fine. But when I opened my mouth, the words didn’t come. Instead, I just nodded and sat back down next to him.
The night was quiet when I woke up, but my mind was anything but. I blinked a few times, groggy from my sleep, trying to make sense of where I was. It wasn’t the best thing to wake up to when your brain was working at half speed. I was in my apartment, on the couch where Evan had left me earlier. The faint ache of my hangover still lingered at the edges of my mind, but it wasn’t what had me wide awake now.
The room felt darker, the air colder. The silence that had been comforting earlier was now stifling, like something was pressing down on my chest. I was exhausted, but it didn’t matter. I couldn’t sleep. My skin felt clammy, my heart was pounding unreasonably hard, and I could barely get a full breath.
I tried to breathe deeply, but it felt wrong, shallow. Something about it wasn’t right. And then, just like that, it hit me. Like a wall crashing into my chest, every suppressed memory came flooding back, my father’s face, his angry, red eyes, the way he used to shout and throw things, the sound of his hands hitting my body, the tightness in my throat as I tried to stay quiet, tried not to make it worse.
The panic started to build like a wave in my chest, my breathing becoming erratic, shallow gasps slipping from my mouth as I tried to keep myself under control.
I couldn’t do this again. Not now. Not like this.
The room seemed to spin around me, and I sat up quickly, my hands shaking violently. The sudden movement made my head spin even more, my stomach churning like I might vomit. Sweat coated my skin. My pulse was so loud, it almost drowned out the other noises in the room. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely make them stop.
I needed to do something. I needed help.
That thought felt like a damn lifeline. I couldn’t do this alone.
I grabbed my phone, my fingers feeling thick and uncoordinated. I could barely hold it, but somehow, I managed to pull up Evan’s contact. My mind was foggy, my thoughts all over the place, but one thing rang clear: I needed him.
I pressed the call button with trembling fingers, feeling like I was drowning in the moment. I could barely focus enough to wait for him to pick up. Each second felt like an eternity.
The phone rang. And rang. I could barely breathe, every second of it gnawing at me, tearing at my chest.
The click of the call connecting was a small relief, and then his voice was in my ear.
“Barty? What’s wrong?”
I couldn’t form words right away. I tried, but they came out strangled, like I couldn’t quite find them. My throat felt tight, like I was choking, and all I could focus on was how wrong everything felt. How much I hated this feeling, how much I hated being this weak.
“Barty?” Evan repeated, his voice concerned, but steady. He was steady. He always seemed to be steady.
“I can’t...” My voice cracked. “I can’t breathe.”
My heart was racing, my breath was ragged and fast, and the world around me felt like it was closing in. I could feel my chest tightening. I wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear, but I couldn’t move. I felt trapped in my own skin, trapped by my memories, by everything that had happened.
“I need you,” I rasped out, barely managing to get the words through the panic. “Please. I need you.”
“Barty,” Evan said, and his voice was so calm, so controlled, that it made my chest tighten even more, but not in a bad way. He wasn’t panicking, he wasn’t judging me. He was just there. “You’re okay. You’re safe. I’m here. I need you to breathe, alright? In through your nose, out through your mouth. Just like we talked about before. Can you do that for me?”
I was shaking too hard to follow the instructions properly, but I tried. I sucked in a ragged breath through my nose, but it felt too shallow. I couldn’t get enough air. The panic kept pushing me down, drowning me. I couldn’t stop thinking about the past, the way it had been. The bruises, the yelling, the pain.
“Barty,” Evan’s voice broke through the spiral of thoughts, and his tone was so calm, so unwavering. It was like he was holding me up just with his words, and damn, I hated that I needed that. “I’m on my way. Just hold on. Keep breathing. You can do this.”
I nodded, even though I wasn’t sure if he could see it, even though I wasn’t sure if I was even fully here anymore. The panic was gripping me harder, but I held onto his voice like it was the only thing keeping me from floating away.
“I can’t stop shaking,” I gasped, my voice barely recognizable to my own ears.
“I know,” Evan said gently. “That’s your body’s way of telling you it’s scared. But you’re okay. I’m coming, I’m on my way. You’re not alone, alright?”
I couldn’t respond. All I could do was press the phone harder to my ear, trying to focus on his voice, trying to hear him through the fog in my mind. I felt like I was losing touch with reality. The sounds around me were muffled, and all I could hear was the pounding in my head.
“Just keep breathing, Barty,” Evan urged, and I could hear him moving, the rustle of his clothes as he must have stood up. “I’m going to be there. I’m coming to you. You’re okay. You’re okay.”
He kept repeating it, over and over. He was trying to keep me tethered to the moment, and for a second, I thought I was going to drown in the panic.
But then, I did breathe. I took a slow, shaky breath in through my nose, and out through my mouth. I felt a tiny bit of relief, just enough to stop my hands from trembling as violently.
“Evan,” I whispered, still not sure if I was saying it aloud or if it was just in my head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you. I didn’t want to.”
“Don’t apologise,” he interrupted, his voice sharper now, but not with anger. It was the kind of sharpness that told me he was frustrated, not with me, but with how I was hurting. “You’re not bothering me. Ever. Just hold on, okay?”
I didn’t say anything else. I couldn’t. But I focused on his words, on that small piece of stability. I couldn’t remember the last time someone was so calm with me. So steady.
I held the phone against my ear, still shaking, but the panic was starting to ebb away, slowly but surely. I clung to the sound of Evan’s voice as I sat there, frozen on the couch.
By the time Evan arrived, it felt like an eternity had passed. He knocked on the door, his voice calling out softly, and I stumbled to my feet with the last of my energy. When I opened the door, he was standing there, his face worried, but determined.
“Barty,” he said gently, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “I’m here. You’re not alone.”
I collapsed against him before I even realized what I was doing. His arms came around me instantly, pulling me close, and I felt the tension in my body ease as he held me. I was still shaking, but it wasn’t as bad now that I could feel him there, anchoring me.
“You’re okay,” he said softly into my ear. “You’re safe now.”
It felt like a lie. But when I closed my eyes, listening to his steady breathing and feeling his warmth, it felt like the truth. Maybe not right away, but for now, I was safe. And for some reason, that was enough.
I held onto him for dear life, trying to steady myself, trying to forget about everything that had come before.
For once, I didn’t need to fight. Evan was here. And somehow, he made the chaos inside me feel a little less loud.
Evan's presence beside me felt like an anchor, and the gentle sound of his voice had a way of settling the chaos in my mind. But despite everything, I could feel the weight of my body, exhausted and aching from the events of the night. My limbs felt heavy, and my eyelids, still burning from the anxiety and panic, begged for rest.
"You ready to lie down?" Evan’s voice cut through my foggy thoughts, gentle and patient. "Come on, I’m going to help you get to bed."
I didn’t answer right away, still clinging to the warmth of his presence. But as he gently nudged me into a sitting position, the last of my energy began to drain out of me. I was dizzy, and my head felt like a balloon, light and disconnected from my body. But I didn’t want to fight him. I didn’t want to resist the comfort he was offering.
He didn’t need to ask me twice. As he stood up, he effortlessly pulled me into his arms. His grip was strong, secure, he wasn’t letting me fall. I felt the world spin around me, but Evan held me close, and somehow, it wasn’t so bad anymore. His scent, his warmth, it grounded me, kept me from floating away into the darkness.
"Shhh," he whispered, his breath warm against my ear. "I’ve got you, Barty."
I barely registered that we were moving, that he was carrying me across the apartment, but it was comforting. His body was sturdy, his arms encircling me as though he’d never let me go. We moved slowly, carefully, and I found myself allowing myself to be carried by him, trusting him in a way I never had with anyone.
When we reached the bed, Evan gently lowered me down onto the soft sheets. The coolness of the sheets against my skin felt like a relief. My eyes fluttered closed, my body sinking into the mattress.
I wasn't sure what to say. I didn’t know how to express how much I appreciated him, how much his care meant to me. It felt like I had so many words on the tip of my tongue, but they were trapped, unwilling to come out. The emotions were heavy, and I couldn’t seem to untangle them.
I heard him move around the room for a second, then his hands were on me again, adjusting the blanket over me. He tucked me in carefully, his fingers brushing my skin with an intimacy that didn’t feel invasive, just comforting.
Evan then sat on the edge of the bed, his hand gently stroking my hair, smoothing it back from my forehead. The sensation was incredibly soothing. It wasn’t just the touch itself, though that was soft and tender, but the fact that he wasn’t in a rush. He wasn’t trying to get me to feel better in some quick, forced way. He was just there, present, allowing me to rest. He was taking his time with me, and it felt so damn nice.
"I’m not going anywhere," he murmured, his fingers threading through my hair gently, like he was trying to calm a storm inside me with his touch. "I’m here, okay?"
I managed a shaky breath, unable to speak, but I nodded. I didn’t need words to tell him how much I needed him there, how much I wanted him to stay with me. I didn’t want to be alone.
His hand continued to stroke my hair, the rhythm slow and steady, like a lullaby. "Just relax," he whispered, almost to himself. "You’re safe here, Barty. I’m right here."
The weight of my thoughts, of my anxiety, began to loosen. I allowed myself to sink deeper into the bed, into the feeling of being cared for, of being seen in a way that made me feel like maybe I wasn’t as broken as I sometimes believed. Evan’s touch, his voice, it was all so kind, so patient. It wasn’t like anything I’d ever known before. It was real.
Eventually, I felt my eyelids grow heavier, and the tension in my body started to melt away completely. Evan’s hand never left my hair, and the steady motion of his fingers, combined with his quiet murmurs, seemed to lull me further into a sense of security that I’d never experienced.
"You’re okay," Evan’s voice was soft and steady. "I’ll be here when you wake up."
I wanted to say something in return. I wanted to tell him how much he meant to me in that moment, but my body betrayed me. The warmth of the bed, the rhythm of his hand, the steady pulse of his presence, it was all too much for me to resist.
And so, for the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself drift into a peaceful sleep.
I didn’t dream of my father. I didn’t dream of the things that haunted me.
Instead, I just dreamed of being held, of being safe.
And when I woke up, I found that nothing had changed, Evan was still there, still beside me.