DASHIELL
I stared into the box.
Inside was the exact personal safety bundle I had looked at weeks ago during one of my late-night spirals. Pepper spray, a small folding knife, a door wedge alarm, emergency cash, a burner phone, a whistle, a GPS tracker, laminated emergency numbers, a first-aid kit, an escape guide, and a silver thermal blanket.
My stomach dropped. Cold spread through my entire body.
*Alexander had found it.*
He had seen my search history. The tabs. The articles about psychopathy in relationships.
Selene leaned forward curiously. "Huh? This is a safety kit?" She reached in and lifted out the folding knife, eyes widening. "Wait… pepper spray? Door wedge? Burner phone? Dash, why do you need all this?"
My parents looked over. Dad's brow furrowed and Mom's smile faded into confusion.
"Sweetheart… what is this?" Mom asked gently.
I sat frozen, heart pounding painfully hard. Too many eyes. Too much attention. Shame burned up my throat.
I rocked once on the couch, then stood quickly.
"Mom, Dad, Selene… can you please excuse us for a minute?" My voice came out shaky but direct. "I need to talk to Alexander alone."
They exchanged confused looks but stood. Selene carefully returned the knife to the box.
"Okay… we'll be upstairs if you need us."
As soon as they left, I closed the living room door and turned to Alexander.
He sat cross-legged on the couch, completely calm, watching me with those dark, unreadable eyes.
"You got this for me," I said quietly. "Because you saw what I was looking at."
Alexander didn't flinch.
"Yes."
I swallowed.
"I didn't want to buy it. I just looked. I was overwhelmed after Anthony showed me the scar and everything. My brain went into research mode. I needed to understand and feel safe." I rubbed my palms against my jeans. "But I never planned to get it. Because I trust you. Then you went and bought it for me."
Tears stung my eyes.
"You must be hurt that I even considered it."
Alexander sat very still.
When he finally spoke, his voice was flat, calm, and brutally honest.
"I'm not hurt, Dashiell. I'm pragmatic. I know what I am. I was diagnosed a psychopath years ago. I know the things I think about. The impulses. The way I want to own you completely. The way I imagine killing people who even look at you wrong. My mother and brother told you the truth. I've always been like this."
The words hung in the air like ice.
"You shouldn't have bought this," I whispered. "I was scared and overwhelmed that night. I didn't want you to see those searches. I trust you. But now it feels like you're preparing for the day you lose control."
Alexander's expression closed off completely.
I kept going, tears burning.
"You shouldn't have done this. It makes everything feel wrong. Like you're waiting for the moment I need to run from you."
He stood slowly, towering over me.
"We're late for the hospital," he said flatly. "We should go."
He turned and started toward the door.
"Alexander, wait."
I grabbed his arm with both hands.
"I'm sorry," I choked out. "I shouldn't have searched those things. I was scared. I didn't mean it like that. Please don't shut me out."
He stopped but didn't turn around.
I pressed my forehead against his back.
"I'm sorry... I didn't want this. I want to stay with you. Please."
Alexander gently but firmly freed his arm.
"We're late," he repeated. "Get your bag."
Then he walked out of the living room without looking back.
I stood there alone, tears streaming down my face.
The static in my head was deafening.
He hadn't even looked at me.
---
**The drive to the hospital was completely silent.**
I sat in the passenger seat, adjusting my seatbelt twice until it felt right. My split lip throbbed and my head still hurt from hitting the wall. Tears slipped down my cheeks despite my efforts to stop them.
Alexander drove with both hands on the wheel, eyes fixed on the road ahead. His face was blank and completely closed off.
He didn't look at me once.
He didn't speak.
The silence was heavier than any words could have been.
We arrived a little after 8:40 a.m.
I followed him inside, staying a step behind.
My brain felt full of static and broken glass.
We stepped into the elevator together.
The doors closed.
It was just us.
"Alexander..." I said softly.
He didn't respond.
The elevator dinged on his floor.
He stepped out without a word and headed toward the Cardiothoracic Department, white coat snapping behind him as if nothing had happened.
I remained inside as the doors slid shut again, carrying me to my own floor.
My chest hurt.
I wiped my eyes before the doors opened onto the Pediatric Neurology ward, trying to look normal.
But the static wouldn't stop.
He had walked away from me.
And I didn't know how to fix it.