DASHIELL
I just wanted to be alone.
The car was too quiet and somehow too loud at the same time. The low hum of the engine vibrated through the seat, the air conditioning blew too cold against the side of my face, and every tiny bump in the road sent a fresh throb through my swollen cheek and aching jaw. My head rested against the cool window, eyes unfocused as the city lights and buildings blurred past.
My brain felt fried.
There was too much noise earlier, too many overlapping voices and sudden violence. Too many eyes on me. The sensory overload had peaked the moment that punch landed, and now I was deep in burnout, the kind where everything felt raw and overwhelming, even the fabric of my turtleneck against my neck.
I didn't want to be held.
I didn't want anyone touching me right now.
I just wanted silence, darkness, and my own space to decompress until the static in my head quieted down.
Alexander drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift. He hadn't said a single word since we left the hospital. His face was the same blank mask as always, no anger or concern. Just calm, icy detachment.
I kept my eyes on the passing scenery, trying to let the motion soothe me. My hands were still trembling slightly in my lap. The metallic taste of blood lingered in my mouth even though he had cleaned the split lip.
The silence stretched.
Then Alexander spoke.
"You're shaking."
I didn't look at him. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine," he said, still not glancing my way. "Your hands are trembling, your breathing is shallow and you're pressing your forehead against the glass like you're trying to disappear into it."
I closed my eyes for a second, the coolness of the window helping a little against the headache building behind my temples.
"I'm just… overstimulated," I admitted quietly, my voice hoarse. "There was too much noise. Too many people and it all happened so fast. I need quiet. I don't want to talk right now."
Alexander hummed, a low, neutral sound but didn't push or offer to hold me and he didn't even reach over to touch my hand.
Instead, he simply adjusted the air conditioning so it wasn't blowing directly on me anymore and turned the radio off completely.
The car became even quieter.
I stayed curled against the window, letting the motion of the car and the darkness outside slowly settle my nervous system. My cheek throbbed in time with my heartbeat. The split lip stung every time I swallowed.
After several long minutes, Alexander spoke again, voice still completely flat.
"Mr. Rivera will not be arrested."
I blinked slowly, surprised he was bringing it up. "Thank you."
He gave a tiny shrug, eyes on the road. "You asked. I agreed."
There was something in his tone, too calm and easy that made the back of my neck prickle. But I was too drained to analyze it right now.
I just wanted to get home, take a long shower, put on soft clothes, and lie in the dark until my brain stopped buzzing.
Alexander drove in silence for the rest of the way, his large frame relaxed in the driver's seat, one hand loose on the wheel.
And for once, I was grateful for it.
When we finally pulled into the driveway of his house, I stayed seated for a few extra seconds, gathering the energy to move.
Alexander turned off the engine but didn't get out immediately.
He unbuckled his seatbelt with a soft click.
"Inside. Shower. Then bed. No talking unless you need something."
I let out a shaky breath of relief at the simple, direct instructions.
"Thank you," I mumbled.
As I stepped out on shaky legs, the cool night air hit my face, making the swelling on my cheek sting.
Alexander got out on his side and walked around the car to stand beside me. He didn't touch me or offer his arm.
He simply waited until I started walking toward the front door, then fell into step beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat of his much larger body, but not touching.
My brain registered the presence as both protective and overwhelming at the same time.
I didn't know how to feel about any of it.
All I knew was that today had been too much.
And tomorrow would probably be worse.