His, are the same arms that grip me in place when I wake up kicking and screaming. Why I'm screaming, I don't know. What I'm screaming, I can't tell. But I'm just screaming, and screaming, and screaming, till my throat clogs up when I choke on my own spit. I bawl over as I fall into a coughing fit, my chest squeezing with each compression that comes with the action. My eyes begin to water as I hold onto the edge of the couch, gasping for air.

Logan immediately holds me in place and then stands, pulling me up with him. I feel the rough pads of his arms go around me as he lets me rest my head against his bare chest. "Evie, you're okay, baby. Just breathe," he whispers, hands stroking my back.

I do as he says and air rushes into my lungs with a force that makes me shudder. The coughing subsides but my face is still pressed flat against him. Drool clings to the few sparse hairs on his chest and I cling onto him in the same way. It's almost as if he's my lifeline. He is my lifeline.

I don't know how long we stay like that; mashed together in silence, almost as if we are one. Maybe it's only a few seconds? Minutes? Millennia? Eternity?

Logan's voice breaks the silence that settles and I feel the vibrations that rumble from within him. It's a melody that sings to my aching soul.

"I'm taking you to the balcony. Would you like that?"

I can only nod, scared that uttering a sound might trigger another episode of coughing with how invisible bubbles stick to the back of my throat, pushing down all the things I have to say.

We move one step at a time and he still holds onto me protectively, only letting go once when he grabs the thick blanket he had covered me with, and a second time, when he slides the screen door open.

The loveseat swing sways with the movement of the cool breeze that blows. The night is beautiful yet the beauty is not without it's own horror. Nighttime is when the moon graces the earth with her splendour and the stars shine with promise. Nighttime is when darkness settles and nightmares reign. Never one without the other. Can't win for damn losing.

I let myself sink into the plush cushions, the wooden seat creaking its feeble protests under my weight. Logan doesn't sit right away, he moves to the balcony railing and watches me, eyebrows knit together in thought.

I look back at him, my stare daring him to speak out but the corner of his lips only turns up a smidgen as he brushes his fingers in his hair.

"Are you okay now?" he asks after a while.

Am I ever truly okay? I ask myself too, but out loud I say, "Yes, but I'd be better when you're next to me. Come sit." I pat a spot next to me on the loveseat and he occupies it a moment later.

My head fits in the crook of his neck and my eyes fall shut and even though I had been joking, I'm truly better.

°

I am awake. I know it because the thoughts have come rushing back, a mish-mash of so many words that they seem unintelligible.

My hand moves around in the bed I'm in, searching for that familiar warmth as if by instinct. I don't find it; him, and I sit up to better assess the situation.

There's no dip there like there normally is when Logan rouses before I do. His side of the bed-- which can hardly be considered his because of how much I eat into that half-- lacks warmth too, and I wonder if he slept here last night and when he had brought me here. However, I am assured that he did. The butter-yellow sheets still smell like him; the invigorating scent of honey body wash and also the him under that clean scent.

Stretching, I make my way out of the bed and into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. Even after I splash several rounds of water on my face and pat it dry with a small towel, the tired look I had before still remains.

There are bags under my eyes which make it seem like I'm holding in a deep sigh of vague anxiety. As well as heartache and tiredness at a cosmic level. There is a small and insistent pain in my abdomen and I grip the edge of the sink, studying my breathing which comes out in rushed bursts.

My eyes clamp shut and my teeth clench in a bid to calm the raging torrent in my stomach but it doesn't work. A fraction of a second later, I'm leaning over the toilet bowl, emptying the contents of my stomach. This is the third time I've had to vomit this week.

The ache only intensifies and I end up using the toilet after I brush my teeth a second time.

I'm going to get a glass of water from the kitchen when I stumble in on Logan sitting at the dining table. I thought he'd already be at work, it's past nine am and he normally leaves at eight-thirty. An odd phenomenon.

His back is to me as he gulps down a cup of coffee-- black, the only way he drinks it-- and speaks into his phone. He is an associate at a law firm, one his father has shares in, and I can tell that's where the call is coming from just by studying the way he's speaking.

His voice is authoritative and his tone is strong, bold and orotund. Not like the usually patient one he uses with his family. Or the almost musical one he uses with me.

"The documents have already been drafted. I just need you to take a look at it before we can finalise the contract for your case." Logan pauses, taking a bite out of the French toast he has on a plate. He writes something down on a post-it note while he chews, mumbling "mm-hm"'s and "yes"'s every few seconds. "Alright, I'll get to you around..." He stares at his watch and clicks his tongue in thought. "...ten o'clock. Right, thank you too."

The phone is put face-down on the table and that's when I make my presence known by clearing my throat.

First thing he asks me when he turns around is "Did you sleep well?" I want to say yes but that would be a blatant lie.

"As well as it gets. I had a bad dream again."

"I noticed. It's not getting any better, is it?"

I shake my head, pinching my nose. "It's almost becoming unbearable," I say with a small laugh. He's about to speak but I interrupt with a change of topic. "Why are you still here? I thought you were gone already."

It works and he doesn't address my earlier statement. He says, "I wanted you to be up before I leave, you know, just to make sure you're fine." His eyes trail downwards and he adds, "I see Mackenzie's gone."

"I'm fine, and yes, Mac baby is gone wherever things flushed down the toilet go," I reply, rubbing my hand over my belly which is now as flat as a board. "By the way, since you could afford to extend the time before work I'm sure extending time after wouldn't be too much to ask too." I give him an exaggerated smile, before I turn and pull out the piece of paper from under the cans of tomato purée in the kitchen cabinet.

It's a bit crumpled from all the heckling it has gone through from it's days in my jean pockets. I hand it to him and he takes his time to look through the words I scribbled on that worn paper.

"Just pass by the store after work and get them. Please," I say with a rather sickly sweet smile and a complimentary bat of eyelashes.

I follow his eyes as they flit down the paper. It's a list of items we need at home, they are either in shortage or completely dissipated. I can remember what's exactly on that list and in the exact order I wrote them: Milk, and whole wheat bread, and eggs, and carrots, and-

"Antidepressants?"

It's the look in Logan's eyes, the way it burns through me when he looks up from the paper in his hand. It's the way worry and horror flashes in his gaze with every blink that crushes me, makes my insides crumble in a way that has my heart ceasing and causes me to lose my breath for a second.

I fucked up. I know it.

~~

We just had a peak of what Evie goes through and my heart is honestly affected :(

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