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Get your act together, asshole.
“Jolie? What is it? What’s wrong?” He had to blink several times and wait for his eyes to adjust to the darkness again. Thankfully, there was a small window that let in some light.
He could see that she had jammed herself into a lower shelf. Just her feet were poking out from behind a large box of disposable gloves.
She didn’t reply. But he heard her breathing grow faster.
Fuck.
“Hey, talk to me, Songbird.”
“S-songbird?” she asked after a long moment. “Really?”
“You don’t like it?”
“N-not very imaginative.”
“Hmm. I could try harder. What sort of nickname do you think would suit you?”
“I-I don’t know.”
Shit. She sounded panicky again. He was meant to be soothing her, not upsetting her more.
“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmured. “It’s not anything to get stressed over.”
What the hell was going on? This wasn’t his Jolie.
She’s not yours.
Right. But this wasn’t the woman he’d gotten to know over the last few months. The one who always had a smile on her face and a kind word for everyone.
Was that the real Jolie, though?
Or was she this scared Little girl, hiding in a supply cupboard, panicking because she didn’t know what nickname she liked.
“Why don’t you come out of there, Jolie? Everyone is looking for you.”
Her breathing quickened even further.
Fuck. It felt like he couldn’t say anything right.
“What is it? What’s wrong? Tell me and I’ll fix it,” he demanded gruffly.
Arrogant? Maybe.
But he didn’t care. All he was concerned with was the girl fighting for breath as she sat on the bottom fucking shelf. The shelves were set far apart but she was still crammed in there.
“Jolie? Can you talk to me?”
“N-no.”
“Why not?”
“You… you wouldn’t understand.”
He frowned. “Why not?”
“Is everyone mad at m-me?” she asked.
