Sometimes I miss the quiet intimacy of just lying tangled together with Oliver, feeling his heartbeat against my back while my fingers trace the scars on his arms. No screaming, no blood, just the weight of his thigh between mine and the heat of his breath on my neck. The world outside this room turns to color and chaos for everyone else, but with him, it’s soft. It’s real. He’s the only one who doesn’t make me want to tear the skin from bone.