Over the Edge

Ch.19-Of Bedside Chats that Reveal the Truth

He was silent behind me. Maybe repulsed; maybe sickened. That was the risk of exposing myself to him, though. I knew that. The thought of him leaving me, of not believing me and refusing to talk to me because of it, made me inexplicable sad.

But then the hospital cot dipped behind me, and a warm hand settled on my arm. Instinctively I leaned toward that touch, unintentionally turning and meeting his brown-eyed gaze. They stared at me with a softness I had not known Rhys Richardson capable of. It did wonders for his hardened edge, made him seem more real and compassionate.

Another tear dripped from my lashes but he caught it with his finger, rubbing it away. His close proximity had my senses on high alert. I could make out more of his tattoo with the way he was leaning. His earring was a small diamond stud. "I believe you, Emma," he whispered.

I sniffed. "What?"

His hand trailed down my cheek and cupped my chin, thumb running across the front. His eyes lingered on my lips before meeting my own. "I believe you."

"But I just told you-"

"I know what you said," he interjected quickly, not wanting to hear me repeat it. "I know what you said."

More tears built up at my unexpected ally. Who knew the last person anyone-including me-would expect to be understanding was the only one who believed me? The only one who wasn't calling me used trash or damaged goods and walking out the door, never to speak with me again?

He was still there.

Maybe Mr. Matthews knew what he was doing after all.

"This isn't the first time," he remarked suddenly. His fingers were still on my face and it was easy to get lost in his heat.

"Isn't the first time what?" I mumbled.

"The first time you tried to overdose."

I went rigid. "Rhys . . ."

"And don't bullshit me about it either, Emma. I've been around this stuff my whole life, too. I know these kinds of cases when I see it."

That thought wrenched at my heart. "You never told me that."

His eyes widened, like he hadn't meant to reveal so much about himself with one little cryptic sentence. "This isn't about me, remember?" he recovered quickly. "You're the one in the hospital."

I huffed. "That's not fair."

"Life isn't fair." He ducked to meet my eyes when I dropped them. "When was the first time, Emma?"

I clenched my hair in my hands. "Don't do this to me."

"Negative, sorry. You had to go and be all stupid and now you're here, and you're going to tell me why. So get to talking."

I glared at him. Only Rhys would call someone in such a fragile state stupid. "You still need work on your communication and empathy skills."

He waved his hand in the air. "It's not that important. But you keep trying to change the subject."

I took a deep breath. "I was sixteen."

He nodded. "Not that long ago. Makes sense."

"What do you mean it makes sense?"

"You're still in that whacky-ass state because of what that dick did to you. If you were recovered and fine and it's only been almost two years, you wouldn't be human."

No therapist had ever quite put it like that. "I guess you're right."

"Of course I'm right."

I rolled my eyes, but I was finding re-telling it wasn't as painstakingly agonizing as I thought it would be. And why did I think it was because of Rhys Richardson?