He’s huddled up inside the dark, enclosed space, his head buried in his hands as he rocks forward and back. Oh God. I rush to him. I don’t think, I just run, collapsing to my knees before him and pushing my way between his legs until we’re face-to-face. “Oliver. Talk to me.” My tone is hushed and encouraging, my fingers trailing up the front of his chest until they curl around his neck. When he finally raises his eyes to me, my heart cracks into a thousand tiny fragments. He’s petrified. He’s breaking. He’s someplace else.
💔💔
