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I shake my head, throat too tight to speak.

His gaze sweeps over me rapidly—my tear-streaked face, my trembling arms, the pink cuff around my wrist, the rumpled bed—searching for injury, for blood.

“Kammie, sweetheart, look at me.”

I can’t.

“Are you hurt?”

I shake my head again, avoiding his eyes.

“Did the cuff hurt you?”

“No.” My voice comes out shredded, raw, and broken.

A flicker of relief crosses his features before concern deepens the lines around his eyes. “What happened, then?”

I swallow and try to compress myself even further into the corner. The movement makes the fabric of my shorts shift, which draws Adrien’s attention.

He freezes as his eyes drop to the darkened patch on the mattress, then back to the wet cloth clinging to my butt and thighs.

Understanding crosses his face, and I wait for everything to change.

For the softness to vanish, for the warmth to drain from his face, for his mouth to thin into that all-too-familiar line of disappointment adults wear when you’ve failed them.

Adrien closes his eyes. “Fuck.”

My stomach plummets through the floor. “I’m sorry,” I whisper brokenly.

His eyes snap open. “No.”

“I tried to hold it.”

“Kamden.”

I start sobbing all over again. “I called you, but—but you didn’t come, and I tried, I really did, but it hurt and then I-I c-couldn’t—”

“Sweetheart.”

“I’m s-sorry.”

“Stop.”

I flinch.

His expression shatters—not into anger, but pain. “Shit. No, baby. Not like that. Fuck. Hold on.” He reaches for the cuff key so fast his hand fumbles once before finding the lock.

The cuff opens, freeing my wrist, and before I can process that, Adrien reaches for me.

I shrink back. “Don’t.”

“Baby—”

My chest heaves unevenly. “I’m w-wet,” I cry.

“Oh, honey, I know.”

“It’ll… it’ll get on you.” My voice cracks.