Rachael
By the sixth morning, I knew the sounds of the cabin too well.
The refrigerator clicked on before sunrise. The porch boards snapped when the air cooled overnight. Somewhere in the walls, pipes knocked twice whenever Roman turned on the shower. The old coffee maker hissed like it was debating whether to survive another day before finally spitting to life.
I knew which cabinet stuck.
I knew where Roman kept batteries, extra blankets, aspirin, and matches.
I knew the exact spot on the couch where he sat every night while pretending not to watch me spiral.
That should have felt comforting.
Instead, it made something restless crawl beneath my skin.
The cabin had stopped feeling temporary.
It started feeling less like somewhere I was recovering, and more like somewhere I lived.
That realization irritated the hell out of me.
I’d been up for hours, dressed in another one of Roman’s hoodies and sweatpants, pacing the main room like a caged animal.
“You eat yet?” he asked.
There it was again.
Not the question itself.
The constant checking.
Did you sleep?
Did you eat?
Did you take your meds?
You okay?
Head hurting?
Nightmares?
The worst part was he wasn’t doing anything wrong.
I’d spent years finding ways not to sit alone with my own thoughts for too long.
Up here there was nowhere for them to go.
I rubbed my thumb hard against the side of my coffee mug.
Roman noticed immediately. He leaned one hip against the counter beside me. Close enough that heat rolled off him into my side.
Not touching.
That carefulness again.
That carefulness should have made me feel safer.
Instead it made me hyperaware of every small thing he wasn’t doing.
The way he hesitated now sometimes before touching me.
The way he’d pull me into his lap during nightmares like instinct took over, only to loosen his grip again afterward like he’d remembered he was supposed to be careful.
The way his mouth still found mine sometimes when my panic got too loud, but slower now. Like he was trying not to overwhelm me with how much he actually felt.
It wasn’t distance.
That was the problem.
It felt heavier than before.
Like we were both trying too hard not to break whatever survived that cliff.
The confession on the cliff still sat between us like an open wound neither of us wanted to touch. I love you. The words I’d screamed into the wind right before trying to step off the edge. He’d heard them. Then he’d had to drug me anyway. Now he was treating me like I might shatter if he held me too tightly.
“You’ve been quiet,” Roman said, his voice low. The same tone he used when he was trying not to push. His eyes moved over my face quietly. “What’s going on in your head?”
I laughed once under my breath.
“You really wanna open that door this early in the morning?”
“Probably not,” he admitted. “Still asking.”
I looked back down at the phone screen.
“I think I used to spend a lot more time fucked up than I realized.”
Roman stayed quiet.
No interruption.
No reassurance.
Just listening.
“I always blamed the job,” I murmured. “Or my dad. Or Travis. Or the nightmares.” My fingers tightened slightly around the mug. “But I think I just got really good at finding ways not to hear myself think.”
His hand slid from my back to my waist then, firmer this time, for one brief second, like instinct overrode restraint.
“You’re hearing it now,” he said quietly.
I swallowed hard.
“Yeah.”
“And?”
I let out a humorless laugh.
“It’s fucking exhausting.”
Roman stayed quiet beside me.
The silence stretched long enough that I finally looked at him.
His hand tightened slightly at my waist.
“And now I’m stuck up here in the middle of nowhere with nothing to do except think. Which, apparently, is a terrible fucking idea.”
Roman’s expression shifted slightly at that.
“You’ve been surviving for a long time, Rachael.”
I laughed once under my breath.
“Yeah. Real inspiring spin on alcoholism.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
I rubbed at my eyes with one hand, exhausted suddenly.
“I know.”
Roman stayed beside me quietly for another few seconds before his thumb brushed slowly against my side again.
“I should probably head into town today,” he said finally.
My attention snapped back to him immediately.
“Why?”
“Supplies. Gas. Check in with Marty. Work the case.” He shrugged one shoulder slightly. “See if the world ended while we were hiding in the woods.”
The word hiding hit something raw in me instantly.
“I’ll come with you.”
The answer came too fast to sound casual.
Roman’s expression shifted slightly.
“No.”
I stared at him.
“No?”
“Not today.”
I crossed my arms tighter over my chest.
“Roman, I’ve been stuck up here for almost a week.”
“Six days.”
“Wow. Thanks. Huge correction.”
His mouth twitched faintly, but not enough to soften the firmness underneath it. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.” I pushed away from the counter completely now, restless energy buzzing under my skin again. “I can sit in a truck for two hours without combusting.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about.”
I turned toward him fully.
“Then what are you worried about?”
Roman was quiet for half a second too long before answering.
“You’re finally starting to come down from all of it.”
“By being isolated in a cabin like a psycho survivalist?”
“That’s not what this is.”
“Then what is it?”
Roman was quiet for a second too long before answering.
“You haven’t had a panic spiral in days.” His voice stayed calm. “You’re sleeping longer. You’re eating again.”
“Barely.”
“Still doing it.”
I dragged a hand through my hair, frustrated suddenly without knowing exactly where to put it.
“So what? I’m supposed to stay hidden up here until I’m magically fixed?”
“That’s not what I said.”
Something in his voice made me look away first.
I stared down into my coffee again, jaw tight.
The irritation sitting under my skin felt stupid now.
Ugly.
Because Roman wasn’t saying you’re unstable.
He wasn’t saying you can’t handle yourself.
He was saying you almost died.
He was saying I almost lost you.
I pushed away from the counter and walked toward the window again, needing movement even if it was only across the damn room.
The trees outside swayed slowly in the wind.
Same view.
Every day.
“You can’t keep me up here forever,” I muttered.
Roman didn’t answer immediately behind me.
When I glanced back, he was watching me with that same careful expression that had started driving me insane.
“I know,” he said quietly.
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
I crossed my arms tighter over my chest.
“Because it kinda feels like you’re getting real comfortable making decisions for me lately.”
The second the words left my mouth, guilt followed right behind them.
Roman’s expression barely changed, but I saw it anyway.
That small tightening around his eyes.
Not anger.
Hurt.
Which is not what I wanted.
“I’m trying to keep you alive,” he said calmly.
“I know.”
“You tried to jump off a cliff six days ago.”
“I remember.”
“You were crying in your sleep this morning.”
“I remember that too.”
Roman pushed off the counter then, crossing the room slowly until he stood in front of me.
His hand settled against the side of my neck gently, thumb brushing once under my jaw.
“I’m not trying to control you, Rachael.”
The quiet honesty in his voice made my chest ache.
Because I believed him.
That was the problem.
I believed him completely.
Roman leaned down just enough that his forehead rested lightly against mine for a second.
“I just need to know you’re okay before I throw you back into everything waiting out there,” he murmured.
The softness of it hit harder than yelling would’ve.
Because part of me wanted to stay right there with him.
And another part of me suddenly wanted out of this cabin badly enough I could feel it crawling under my skin.
“Just a little longer,” he said. “Until you’re steadier. Until I know it’s safe. I’ll be quick. Promise.”
He kissed the top of my head, soft and careful, then stepped back.
“I’ll bring back some of your things,” he said quietly. “Whatever you want.”
Roman left an hour later.
I stood at the window with my arms crossed tightly over my chest while his truck disappeared between the trees.
The sound of the engine faded slowly down the mountain road.
Then it was gone.
I stayed there another minute anyway, staring at the empty road like I expected him to come right back around the bend.
My jaw tightened at the thought. I turned away from the window abruptly and grabbed my coffee off the counter.
This was ridiculous.
He went to town.
That was it.
Not war.
Not deployment.
Not abandonment.
Just groceries and a phone signal.
I took a long drink of coffee and immediately started moving just to avoid standing still long enough for the thoughts to settle again.
Bathroom first.
Then bedroom.
Then back into the kitchen without really meaning to.
Restless.
My fingers opened cabinet doors automatically while my brain ran somewhere else entirely.
Crackers.
Coffee.
Soup.
Nothing.
I frowned slightly and opened another cabinet.
Empty shelf.
My eyes caught automatically on the space above the refrigerator.
No liquor bottles.
Not even cheap cooking wine.
I opened the junk drawer next.
Pens.
Batteries.
Flashlight.
No old pill bottles.
No random painkillers.
Then opened another drawer harder.
Utensils rattled loudly.
Forks.
Spoons.
Butter knives.
No sharp knives.
The next drawer didn’t have any either.
Neither did the knife block beside the stove.
Heat crawled slowly up the back of my neck as the realization settled in.
Roman removed them.
All of it.
Not dramatically.
Not like he thought I was some violent maniac.
But quietly.
I leaned both hands against the counter and stared down at the open drawer while shame and irritation twisted together inside my chest.
Because the worst part wasn’t even that he’d done it.
The worst part was understanding exactly why.
And understanding that a small ugly part of me had started looking for those things the second he left.
For a second I just stood there breathing.
Humiliated.
Because Roman hadn’t even needed to accuse me of anything.
He’d simply prepared for the possibility.
I dragged both hands through my hair and turned away from the counter again, restless energy crawling under my skin hard enough now that I could feel it in my teeth.
This was exactly the kind of feeling I usually killed fast.
Before it got bigger.
Before it turned into:
one drink.
one pill.
one bad decision.
one spiral.
“No,” I muttered out loud immediately.
The word sounded small in the empty cabin.
The problem was I didn’t know what part of myself I trusted anymore.
Not after the cliff.
Not after how badly a part of me still wanted something, anything, to make my head quiet for five fucking minutes.
A floorboard creaked softly somewhere deeper in the cabin.
My head snapped up instantly before I could stop myself.
Silence.
Nothing there.
Still, my heart kept pounding too hard afterward while I stared toward the hallway.
And for the first time since Roman left, the cabin didn’t just feel empty.
It felt isolated.
