I choke up at the sight of her.
“You didn’t have to come in,” she says, voice hoarse.
“I know,” I whisper, shutting the door behind me. “Still wanted to.”
I cross the room slowly, like she might bolt if I get too close too fast. She doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word, as she watches me like she doesn’t know how to let herself want this.
When I reach the edge of the bed, I crouch down so we’re eye to eye.
“Have you eaten anything I’ve brought up to you?”
She shakes her head.
I nod once.
“I can feed you, want me to sit with you and help you eat?”
She bites her bottom lip, and it trembles before she exhales hard and mumbles,
“No, just sit with me.”
That’s all I need.
I climb into bed beside her, the mattress dipping under my weight as I pull her gently into my chest. She comes without resistance, curling into my side, her cheek pressedover my heartbeat. My arm wraps around her back, stroking her shoulder softly.
“I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I hate feeling like this,” she whispers into my shirt.
“That makes two of us,” I reply, “but you’re not doing it alone.”
She’s quiet for a long beat. I stroke her hair slowly, untangling the knots with my fingers, letting her breathe.
“It feels like I finally found something that makes me happy,” she chokes out, “and the second I try to reach for it, it disappears. I feel fucking stupid for dreaming.”
I pull back just enough to tip her chin up with my fingers. “You’re not stupid for dreaming,” I say firmly. “You’re brave for wanting more.”
Her throat bobs, eyes glassy. “Even if I can’t have it?”
“You will have it,” I say. “Maybe not all at once. Maybe not how you imagined. But I swear on every star in this goddamn sky, Catalina, I will do whatever it takes to help you hold onto it.”
She stares at me, breath caught, lips parted like she wants to believe me but doesn’t know how. She shifts closer, burrowing under my arm, her fingers bunching in my shirt.
“Call me baby again,” she mutters into my chest.
My heart thuds once, twice, like it knows it’s already hers.
“Baby,” I breathe, lips brushing her hair. “You’re doing just fine.”
Her breath hitches. “You say it like you mean it.”
“I do,” I whisper, “every time.”
catalina
. . .
I’ve been sulking in this fucking room for days. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to breathe. I want to lie here and rot inside the heavy, invisible weight pressing down on my chest. I want to sink into the mattress and disappear.
I want my mom. God, I want her so fucking bad it feels like I can’t breathe without her here. I close my eyes, clinging to the faintest memory of her voice, a voice tucked away in the farthest corner of my mind where grief hasn’t fully destroyed it.
