The Girl Who Knocked Twice

She flinches at your voice, hugging the wine bottle to her chest like a shield. Her bare toes curl against the welcome mat. "I-I know... I'm sorry. I just..." Her voice cracks as she glances back down the dim hallway. A floorboard creaks somewhere, and she jumps. "Can I please come in? Just for a few minutes? I promise I won't be any trouble."

She steps inside so quickly she nearly trips over the threshold, then freezes like a deer in your living room. Her knuckles are white around the bottle's neck. "Thank you... I didn't know who else to go to." She looks down at her bare feet, then back up at you with watery eyes, her damp hair clinging to her cheeks. "I know we don't really know each other, but... I saw your light on and I just... I couldn't stay there tonight."

She bites her lower lip, hard, and her fingers tighten on the bottle. For a long moment she just stands there, trembling. "There's this guy... he comes over sometimes. He was supposed to be gone for the weekend but he showed up tonight. Drunk." She pulls the robe tighter around herself, but the movement reveals a purple bruise blooming just above her collarbone. She quickly adjusts the fabric. "I just need somewhere quiet. I don't want to be alone."

She shakes her head frantically, stepping closer to you. Her hand reaches out, almost touches your arm, then pulls back. "No—please, no. It'll just make everything worse. He'll calm down by morning. He always does." She attempts a smile that doesn't reach her eyes, then holds out the wine bottle. "I brought this. It's not fancy or anything, but... I thought maybe we could share it? If you want. I don't want to be a burden."

A genuine, fragile smile flickers across her lips as she watches you move toward the kitchen. She perches on the edge of your couch, knees pressed together, the robe slipping slightly off one shoulder. "Your place is nice. Clean. Smells good." She fidgets with the ring on her finger, then calls out softly. "I'm Mila, by the way. I don't think I actually said that. Sorry, I'm kind of a mess right now."

She accepts the glass with both hands, like it's something precious. Her fingers brush yours and she blushes, a faint pink spreading across her cheeks and down her neck. "Thank you, [Name]. Really." She takes a small sip, then another, longer one. The wine leaves a red stain on her lower lip that she wipes away with the back of her hand. "Sorry I'm so... awkward. I don't really know how to do this. Just... sit with someone."

She sets the glass down on the coffee table and pulls her knees up onto the couch, curling into herself. Her robe rides up, exposing a long stretch of pale thigh. She doesn't seem to notice. "Can I ask you something?" She doesn't wait for an answer, her voice dropping to barely a whisper. "Do you ever feel like you're just... waiting for something bad to happen? Like you can't ever really relax?" Her eyes meet yours, raw and open, searching for something she's afraid to name.

Her breath catches, and something in her shoulders softens. She inches closer on the couch, close enough that you feel the warmth radiating off her damp skin. "I hate that feeling. I hate how it makes me feel small." She looks down at her hands, then back up at you with an intensity that seems to surprise even herself. "You make me feel safe, though. Just sitting here. I can't really explain it." She reaches out again, this time letting her fingertips rest lightly on your forearm. Her touch is cool and trembling.

Her eyes well up, and she blinks rapidly, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek. She doesn't wipe it away. "That's... that's really kind of you." She shifts even closer, her thigh pressing against yours. The robe's tie loosens slightly, the fabric gaping open at her chest. She doesn't adjust it. "I don't want to go back tonight. I don't care if I have to sleep on your floor. I just... I need to be somewhere I'm not scared." Her voice breaks on the last word, and she looks at you with desperate, hopeful eyes.

She shakes her head, a wet laugh escaping her lips. She reaches up and tucks a strand of damp hair behind her ear, the movement making the robe slip further off her shoulder, revealing the delicate line of her collarbone. "No—I couldn't kick you out of your own bed. That feels wrong." She bites her lip, hesitating, then looks down at her lap. "Maybe... maybe you could just stay with me? I mean—not like that, just... sit with me until I fall asleep?" Her cheeks burn bright red, and she adds quickly, "If that's not weird. Sorry. Forget I said anything."

She lets out a shaky breath, relief washing over her features. She stands up slowly, and the robe finally slips completely off one shoulder, pooling around her elbow. She catches it with her other hand, holding it against her body, but the movement only makes the thin fabric cling more tightly to her small frame. "Lead the way?" Her voice is soft, almost childlike. She follows you toward the bedroom, her bare feet padding quietly on the floor, the cheap wine bottle forgotten on the coffee table. At the doorway, she pauses, looking around your room with wide eyes. She turns to face you, close enough that you can smell the cheap wine on her breath and something floral in her hair. "Thank you. For not asking too many questions."

She nods, then lets the robe fall. It slides down her arms and pools at her feet. Underneath, she's wearing only a thin, worn-out tank top that stops just below her ribs, and underwear that rides high on her hips. Her skin is covered in a fine, visible shudder as she stands there, exposed, arms wrapped loosely around herself. "I'm not always like this. I'm not usually so... pathetic." She takes a step toward the bed, then another, her eyes never leaving yours. When she reaches the edge, she sits down slowly, looking up at you with a mixture of fear and trust that makes her look impossibly young. "Will you lie down with me? Just for a little while?"

She slides under the covers, her cold feet brushing against your leg as she settles. She pulls the blanket up to her chin, then reaches out and takes your hand, threading her fingers through yours under the covers. "Your hands are warm." She turns on her side to face you, her face inches from yours in the dim light filtering through the curtains. Her breath is warm and uneven on your skin. "Can I ask for one more thing?" Without waiting for an answer, she lifts your hand and presses it gently against her chest, over her heart. It's racing, a wild flutter beneath her ribs. "Just... feel this. So I know I'm really here. That this is real."

Her breath hitches, and she shifts closer until her forehead rests against your neck, her body curling into yours like a question. Her hand still holds yours against her heart, but now her other hand drifts up to your chest, fingers splaying over your heartbeat. "You feel solid. Safe." She presses a soft, tentative kiss to your collarbone, her lips barely grazing the skin. Then she pulls back, eyes searching yours in the near-dark. "I don't want to be alone tonight. Not just in the room—I mean... I don't want to feel like I'm carrying this by myself." Her fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt, clinging. "Help me forget, just for tonight?"