Hold Me Close - Talia Hibbert Page 0,185

like a predator. Because she knew that at any moment, things might change. Her own fucking brain chemistry, the traitor, might drag her out of her body again.

So often, she was afraid. It was exhausting.

“When you slip,” he said carefully, “do you ever think of reaching out? Asking someone for help?”

“Think about it? Yes.”

“Do you do it?”

“Absolutely not.” She’d said that too emphatically, hadn’t she? She’d shown him too much of her fear. Too much of the gnawing voice that said, No-one would care if you did, anyway, and that would just make everything worse.

There was a pause before he replied. “That’s okay. I’ll watch you. In case.”

The layers of meaning in that statement hit her like wave after wave of cool ocean under a hot sun. That’s okay. I’ll watch you. If you ever fall, you won’t have to drag yourself up and find me for help. I’ll be ready. I’ll pick you up off the ground.

I’ll watch you.

“When I’m depressed,” Nate said casually, “I always know what I should be doing. I know exactly. I just don’t do it.”

The words jolted Hannah out of her thoughts. They were the last thing she’d expected to hear, for more reasons than one. But the most unsettling thing was how familiar they seemed; how he could’ve plucked those sentences right out of her head.

“I should take care of myself,” Nate said. “I should talk to someone. I should laugh with the kids and really mean it. I should take a minute to breathe and feel the air moving inside my lungs. I know these things, and that just makes it worse, because I also know that I’m not going to do it. It’s like sitting in front of a wall—one you can see right through—and on the other side is the person you should be. And it’s so clear, it seems so close, and so much better. So you think, ‘Hey, maybe I could climb the wall. Maybe I could knock it down. Maybe, if I walked far enough, I’d find the end and just… step around it.’

“But you never do,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “You just keep staring through the wall and thinking about it, because making plans is so much easier than acting, and you’re so fucking tired. You don’t know if you’ve ever truly been awake; you can’t remember the feeling anymore. And after a while, watching that other you do the things you should be doing—it feels good enough. Knowing what you should do takes as much energy as doing it, so why push yourself? Taking the extra step, actually living—it just seems so excessive, all of a sudden. So unnecessary. Why cause yourself so much trouble, so much pain, chasing after something you barely remember… when you can sit and watch it through the wall?”

Nate spoke as if in a distant trance, his eyes unfocused—but after a second, he finally looked at Hannah. If she’d been looking back at him, she’d have noticed that he seemed suddenly sober. She’d have seen him sit up straighter and blink rapidly, seen his cheeks flush a little. Seen him pull his fingers from the back of her neck and stare, astonished, at his own hand.

But she wasn’t paying attention to Nate. She was figuring out how to keep breathing when it felt like he’d just ripped out her insides.

“Hannah,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.” She tried to ask what he was sorry for, but she couldn’t speak. Emotion clogged her throat like a cork in a bottle. And then he said, “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Oh. That was why she couldn’t speak. Tears were to blame for the hot prickling of her eyes and the wetness gliding down her cheeks. Of course they were. Of course.

She was absolutely furious with herself. What a ridiculous time to start crying. Well, any time was a ridiculous time to start crying, but this just took the cake. And the worst part was, she couldn’t stop. Her body was not obeying. She pressed her hands over her eyes and ordered herself to behave, but the tears kept coming and the sobs kept burning through her chest, and for some reason she couldn’t knock it off.

Then, suddenly, she was caught in Nate’s arms as he dragged her onto his lap like she was one of the kids. He wrapped her up in what could only be described as the best hug ever: warm and dark and safe, smelling faintly of whiskey and