Page 47 of Say You'll Stay
All I can do is cling to her, my tears soaking into the soft fabric of her robe, my body shaking with the force of my sobs.
She murmurs soothing words, her fingers carding through my tangled hair, but I barely hear her over the roar of my own thoughts.
June’s face flashes through my mind, his eyes dark with a possession that now feels more like a threat than a promise. The doubts and fears that have been festering in the back of my mind come rushing to the surface, spilling from my lips in a torrent of anguished words.
Mama guides me to the couch, her hands never leaving my shoulders, but this time her presence isn’t enough. I need my mini me, and the only best friend I’ll ever need.
And then Sonya is there, appearing as if summoned by the force of my distress.
“Who do I need to kill?” she asks, only half-joking.
I shake my head, unable to find the words, but Sonya doesn’t need them. Song and Sonya may be twins that share a brain; but my mini me and I—we share a heart.
One look at my tear-stained face—at the way I’m clinging to Mama latched like a newborn at the tit—her expression hardens, death’s grim scythe gleaming in her eyes.
Sonya knows, just as surely as I do, that something has gone terribly, terribly wrong.
“What did he do?” she demands, her voice low and dangerous. “What did that bastard do to you?”
She sinks onto the couch beside me, pulling me into her arms, and I let myself fall apart, the sobs tearing through me like a hurricane. Sonya holds me tightly, her own tears mingling with mine, her anger a palpable force in the air around us.
“I’ll kill him,” she whispers, her voice trembling with rage. “I swear to God, Cara, if he hurt you, I’ll fucking kill him.”
But even as the words leave her lips, I know it’s not that simple. Because even now, even with the fear and the doubt coursing through my veins, I can’t deny the truth that’s written on my heart.
I love him. God help me, I love him still.
And that’s what makes this so much worse, so much harder to bear. Because if June, the man who holds my heart in his hands, is capable of this kind of betrayal, then what does that say about me? What does it say about the love I thought we shared?
I cling to Sonya, to Mama, as if they’re the only thing keeping me tethered to the world. And in a way, they are. They’re my anchor, my safe harbor, the only constants in a life that feels like it’s spinning out of control.
We sit like that for a long time, a tangle of limbs and shared heartache, as the sky brightens around us. Sonya whispers filled with promises of protection, of retribution, while Mama murmurs soft words of comfort, of understanding.
And slowly, gradually, I feel the panic begin to recede, the tightness in my chest easing ever so slightly. I know this is only the beginning, that there are hard conversations and painful decisions ahead.
But for now, in the warmth and love of my sister’s embrace, I allow myself to believe that maybe, just maybe, I can find my way through this darkness.
That maybe, even with a shattered heart and a broken trust, there is still hope for tomorrow.
The night passes in a haze of tears and whispered reassurances, Mama and Sonya’s presence a constant comfort. As dawn breaks, painting the sky in soft hues of pink and orange, I finally succumb to exhaustion, falling into a fitful slumber on the couch.
When I wake, the sun is high in the sky, streaming through the windows in warm, honey-colored rays. For a moment, I’m disoriented, the events of the previous night feeling like a distant nightmare. But then it all comes rushing back, and I sit up with a gasp, my heart pounding in my chest.
The sound of voices from the kitchen draws my attention, and I pad softly across the hardwood floors, following the scent of freshly brewed coffee and something sweet baking in the oven.
As I round the corner, I freeze, taking in the scene before me. Song and Louis are seated at the kitchen table, their heads bent close together as they speak in low, urgent tones. Sonya is at the stove, flipping pancakes with a determined focus, while Mama bustles around, setting out plates and mugs.
“What’s going on?” I ask, my voice rough from sleep and tears.
Four pairs of eyes snap to me, a mixture of concern and relief on their faces. Song is out of his seat in an instant, crossing the room to pull me into a tight hug.
“Cara, thank God you’re awake. We were so worried about you.”
I melt into his embrace, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne. “I’m sorry,” I mumble into his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to scare you all.”
Louis appears at my side, his hand resting on the small of my back in a gesture of comfort. “You have nothing to apologize for, Cara. We’re just glad you’re safe.”
Mama ushers us all to the table, insisting that I eat something before we dive into the heavy topics that loom over us like storm clouds. I pick at my pancakes, my stomach too knotted with anxiety to have much of an appetite.