Chapter 5

Kim’s POV

It’s strange how silence can be both a comfort and a curse.

I lie on the couch in Erik’s apartment, wrapped in a soft grey blanket that still smells faintly of his cologne. Outside, the city hums — distant sirens, horns, a dog barking somewhere far below — but up here, it’s quiet. Too quiet, sometimes. I never realized how much noise trauma made until it was gone: the slammed doors, the raised voices, the creaking floorboards under heavy, angry footsteps.

Now, when the silence stretches long, I can hear my own heartbeat. And it terrifies me.

I turn over, clutching the blanket tighter to my chest. My casted arm rests awkwardly on a pillow, the plaster cold against my cheek. My body is healing, or at least pretending to. But my thoughts… they still wander too easily to places I don’t want to revisit.

He’s dead.

That should comfort me. But it doesn’t.

I remember the sound the vase made when it cracked against his skull. I remember the way he looked at me—almost surprised—as if he never imagined I’d fight back. I remember the moment I realized he wasn’t going to get up again.

The tears come again, slow and silent. I let them. There’s no one here to judge me. Erik’s still at the station, probably buried under a mountain of paperwork because of me.

I don’t know why he offered to help. I don’t know what he sees when he looks at me, or why he’s so calm, so patient. Maybe he sees something worth saving. Maybe he’s wrong.

A soft knock pulls me from the spiral. Not at the front door—at the window.

I blink, confused, and sit up. Erik stands just outside on the balcony, holding two takeout bags and wearing a sheepish smile. I shuffle to my feet and slide open the glass door.

—“You have a key,” I say, confused but amused.

—“I do. But I thought knocking might be... politer. Also more dramatic.” He shrugs, grinning.

I take the bags from his hands. Chinese food, by the smell of it. He steps inside and pulls off his coat, his eyes flicking briefly to my face.

—“Rough day?” he asks gently.

I nod. No use pretending otherwise.

—“I just... I thought I’d feel lighter. After the verdict. After getting out. But it still feels like I’m locked inside something.”

Erik places the coat over a chair and gestures toward the kitchen table. I follow him, setting the bags down and unpacking the food.

—“It’s not just about freedom,” he says, pulling out chopsticks. “It’s about safety. And trust. Your body’s out of the cage, but your mind’s still pacing the bars.”

His words hit harder than I expect. I look at him, surprised.

—“How do you know that?”

He shrugs, avoiding my gaze.

—“You’re not the first victim I’ve worked with.”

That word. Victim. It makes my skin crawl.

—“Can you not call me that?” I murmur.

He glances at me, then nods slowly.

—“What would you prefer?”

I think about it for a moment, then shrug helplessly.

—“I don’t know. Just... not that.”

We eat in silence for a while, the clinking of chopsticks the only sound between us. The food is hot, spicy, comforting. He even remembered my favorite dish—sweet and sour tofu. I didn’t even realize he’d noticed.

—“You remember what I ordered that first day?” I ask quietly.

—“I remember a lot of things,” he replies, not looking up. “You wore a blue hoodie. You had blood on the sleeve, but you kept tucking it into your palm so no one would notice. You didn’t speak unless spoken to. You wouldn’t look me in the eye.”

I feel my breath catch. I want to disappear into the floor.

But then he adds, softer this time—

—“But now you look up. You speak first. You ask questions. That matters, Kim.”

My chest tightens again. Not with fear this time. Something else. Something warmer.

—“I’m scared,” I whisper. “I’m scared this will all disappear. That I’ll wake up and I’ll be back there. That maybe I don’t deserve this.”

He sets down his chopsticks and leans forward, his arms on the table. His voice is firm, but kind.

—“You do. You deserve peace. You deserve safety. And you didn’t steal that from anyone—you fought for it. You survived. That doesn’t make you broken. It makes you brave.”

I don’t know how to respond. No one’s ever said something like that to me. Not and meant it.

A silence settles between us again, but it’s different this time. Full, not empty. Like the quiet before the first breath after a long sob.

I reach for my tea and take a sip. My hands still tremble, just a little, but I don’t try to hide it.

Erik leans back in his chair, watching me with that same unreadable expression he always wears when he’s thinking too hard.

—“Would you ever consider therapy?” he asks.

The word makes my stomach clench, but I don’t flinch.

—“I don’t know. I don’t trust people. Talking is... hard.”

—“It doesn’t have to happen all at once,” he says. “Just think about it. You’ve already taken the hardest step.”

—“Which is?”

—“Letting someone help you.”

I stare at him for a long time. The warmth of the tea, the flicker of the kitchen light, the safety of this space—all of it wraps around me like armor I never had before.

—“Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll think about it.”

He smiles—not wide, not showy, but real. The kind of smile you give someone when you know how much it costs them to say something small.

That night, I lie in bed—his bed, technically—and stare at the ceiling. The pain in my arm is dull now, like an echo. I can hear the murmur of the TV in the living room. Erik hasn’t gone to sleep yet. Maybe he’s watching old crime dramas, or reviewing case files like he always does. Maybe he’s just trying to stay awake in case I need him.

I think of all the nights I used to pray someone would come knock on my window and pull me from the dark. I used to think no one ever would.

Now… someone has.

I don’t know where this story is going. I don’t know if I’ll ever be whole, or if I even know what whole means anymore. But tonight, I feel something I haven’t felt in years.

Safe.

And for now, that’s enough.