“Thanks so much for this,” Emma says, holding up the now-empty bowl of popcorn in her lap. She’s seated on my couch, all the way against the edge, while I’m on a hard dining room chair, practically on the opposite side of the living room. Man, I’m pathetic.
Even Delta and Ash seem to be doing better than I am. My giant dog has curled himself onto the corner of his dog bed, while the feline is stretched out in the center, clearly at ease in his new environment.
“You’re welcome.” I shift my gaze back toward the television, where reruns of Scooby Doo have been playing since we sat down to eat dinner three hours ago. I’m not even entirely sure what’s happening in the episode since all of my mental focus has been on trying to figure out how to survive the night.
She’ll be going to bed soon.
I need to go to bed soon.
But how am I supposed to sleep?
I’ve tried sedatives—they only make me more dangerous because I’m harder to snap out of the nightmare. Maybe I should have her tie me up? I glance over at her, trying to picture Emma zip-tying me to my bed frame.
Yeah, that won’t happen.
I could call Tucker and ask him, but on the off chance a threat really does arrive, I’d be helpless. Either way, I’m risking her life. I just need to trust she’ll lock the door and hope it’s strong enough to keep me out.
Emma yawns and stands. “I think I’m going to go to sleep.”
“Okay.” I stand and head into the kitchen as she does. “I’ll wash that; you can just leave it in the sink.”
“I don’t mind, Dylan.” She squeezes some soap onto the sponge, then turns on the water before she starts washing out the bowl.
She’d insisted on washing the dishes from dinner too.
Seeing her in my kitchen is driving me crazy. Because all I can think about is making her stay here. Of giving her a reason to take a chance on me again. Tightening my hands into fists at my sides, I try to beat back the voices in my head.
The ones laughing at me for even wishing for such a thing.
“You’re too broken,” they say.
“That’s why God hasn’t helped you yet. He knows you’re a lost cause.” They scream those things in my mind on repeat.
“‘Lord, have mercy on me. Make me well again.’” I chant the two lines from Psalm 41 over and over again as I try to silence those voices. They’re the enemy. They’re not real. It’s Him I want to hear.
Only Him.
Lord, protect me from the wicked.
I draw in a deep breath. “Tomorrow, I’d like to go see Harlow together if you’re up for it.”
Emma looks over the sink at me. “Why?”
“I think she’ll talk to you.”
“Because her son wants to marry me?”
“Because your birth mother was her best friend. You look like her, and she died protecting you. Harlow strikes me as a woman with a hard exterior but a gentle disposition once you get past it.”
“She’s the wife of a criminal. How soft can she be?”
“According to her, she didn’t know who he was until she was too far in to get out. Same with Felicity.”
Emma’s expression darkens as she sets the bowl in the drying rack and turns off the water. “I’ll think about it.”
Her answer honestly surprises me. “You don’t want to talk to her?”
“I don’t know if I do.”
