She is pacing slowly in the bedroom, arms crossed too tight.
He sits at the edge of the bed, phone in hand, pretending to scroll.
Tension like static. Neither speaks.
Her breath is shaky, like something in her chest is climbing up and clawing her throat from the inside.
“You’re ignoring me again.”
“You are. You always do that when I say something you don’t like.”
He lets the silence stretch before he finally puts his phone down.
“You said I don't care about you anymore.”
“Because you don’t!”
Her voice breaks a little. She sounds too loud in the quiet room.
Her hands start to twitch. Subtle at first. She takes a step back, hitting the dresser behind her.
Her breathing gets messy.
Her knees buckle slightly—she stumbles, lands on the floor.
Her limbs begin to jerk. Eyes unfocused. A low whimper escaping her lips.
He doesn’t move right away.
“Hey—baby—breathe. It’s okay. I’m here.”
He kneels beside her, slides a pillow under her head, touches her cheek softly.
He holds her like porcelain.
But his eyes… they're studying.
“Just like last time, huh?”
Voice barely audible, more to himself.
His hand lingers on her wrist—checks her pulse. Just long enough to notice how controlled it is.
“You’ll be okay. You always are.”
He doesn’t call anyone.
Just keeps whispering, calming, playing his role.
And when the “seizure” fades and she goes still, blinking back into herself—he smiles.
“See? I didn’t leave. I’m right here.”
His voice is warm. Sickeningly warm.
“I’ll always be here.”
