Overwritten

30 : Unfamiliar familiar

He didn't say anything as I clung onto him as if he was going to save me from my own mind.

But he didn't push me away, he didn't make a snarky remark, he just stood there, before wrapping his arms around me. Gently, he shut the door behind him without a word. When I realized he was guiding me, I panicked, looking to him and trying to plead for him to not take me back to my room, but it just came out as sobs.

My watch was beeping frantically, likely seeing my stress levels far above average. Scott scowled, taking my hand gently and turning my watch off. There was silence, but he still didn't speak, an arm around me before stepping into the empty elevator with me. As the doors closed, he pressed the ground floor, scanning his card, before stepping back.

He looked me up and down, seeing my unbuttoned shirt, exposed bra and tear-stained face. I'm sure he assumed many things, and I know I would never hear the end of it. I felt exposed, isolated like perhaps I had done the wrong thing. Maybe he would abandon me. The old him would have made a joke, laughed at me, or worse, report me. Tell me I was responsible for what happened to me; whatever it was that happened.

He pulled me closer. For a moment, I panicked. Surely he wouldn't try anything. His eyes drifted to my chest and I felt exposed once more, humiliated. I wanted to hide and run. Regret swirling with panic.

But then he started to do up my buttons.

"It's cold outside," he said quietly, not meeting my eyes as he carefully secured each in place. As he reached the top button, he straightened my collar, fixing my jacket. He didn't stare for the sake of staring as boys usually did at billboards of actresses. He adjusted his glasses, his eyes only focused on trying to read me.

The elevator doors opened to the ground floor, and he took my hand, interlocking fingers without another word. He didn't speak, and I couldn't muster the energy to either. Not as we left the apartment buildings, not as we walked down the empty night streets, and not as we waited by the train station.

As we waited on the seat, hands intertwined, I watched with shuddered breaths as my breathing caused condensation to swirl in the air. When a train arrived, Scott helped me on, still not speaking nor giving the slightest hint of what things he was thinking. As the landscape spun past, city buildings turning into a blur, I didn't recognize where we were going. Strangely, I trusted that wherever we were going, it would be better than home.

Whatever home was anymore.

My Mother used to describe home as a place you felt safe; where when you were scared, home would be your protector. But she never told me what to do if home was the place I was scared of the most. She never prepared me for a home that I would feel suffocated in.

The train stopped at a station I didn't recognize, and he helped me up, still without a single word, his hands so much softer than Jake's. I felt sick remembering his rough hands, his rough lips, and those smells of suffocating flowers. Walking down the dark streets, it felt familiar, but I didn't recognize any of the overhanging signs. I knew, however, the moment Scott stopped in front of the only store with its light on and opened the door.

"N-no..." I mumbled, frantically pulling on his sleeve. It was Jack's store, hardware engineering. The last time I had been there I was pinned to a door and feared for my life. Had it only been yesterday? Scott turned to me with a frown.

"Trust me," he said, and even though I knew I never had wanted to return to this place, I walked inside, the interior of the room a contrast to the cold night air.

The store smelt the same as it had before, but at least there were no flowers. It was dirty, but it was better than being where I had been. I shuddered at the thought of where I would be right now if Jake hadn't stopped. Where it would have lead. Imagining made me shudder and want to crawl under blankets and hide. Scott pulled me closer as Jack rounded the corner.