When It All Comes Undone (The Unraveled Series Book 2) by C.W. Elliot

Author:C.W. Elliot [Elliot, C.W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2025-06-20T00:00:00+00:00

16

statue of reassurance

Lenora closed her eyes, her breath hitching as she leaned in closer. Her fingers threaded gently through Sol’s hair, and she buried her face there, into strands that still carried the faint scent of pine but were now tainted with the sterile bite of antiseptic and the faint trace of blood. She inhaled deeply, as if breathing Sol in could somehow stitch together the jagged places inside her that had torn open at the thought of losing her.

Sol’s fingers tightened around the fabric of Lenora’s coat—a silent plea that said don’t go louder than words ever could.

Lenora answered with a silence of her own. Not because she didn’t want to speak—she couldn’t. She wasn’t sure she remembered how. Her hand shifted instead, sliding to the base of Sol’s neck, just holding her, grounding them both.

She held her like that until her heartbeat stopped crashing against her ribs, until she could finally breathe without it burning. Then, barely louder than the space between their breaths, she whispered.

“Let me see your face.”

Sol exhaled shakily into her neck, the warmth of it stealing Lenora’s breath all over again. But she nodded and slowly pulled back.

Lenora’s hands moved instinctively, rising to cradle Sol’s face, palms soft against the bruised heat of her skin. Her thumbs brushed gently over her cheekbones before she tilted Sol’s head toward the light—and felt the air leave her lungs once more.

The cut above Sol’s brow was deep and angry, stitched with black thread that looked too sharp against Sol’s skin. The bruising bloomed outward in sickly violets and marbled blue. Lenora’s jaw flexed at the thought of the pain Sol no doubt felt manifested in her body like something alive.

Her hand trembled as she reached up, tracing the edge of the wound with a feather-light touch. She needed to touch it, to believe it—and yet she hated herself for doing it.

A fresh ache cracked through her chest.

“God damn it, Sol,” she breathed. Her voice trembled—part fury, part grief, and part the unbearable weight of loving someone too deeply.

Sol let out a breath that was almost a laugh, soft and worn, barely reaching the surface. That familiar smirk tugged weakly at the corner of her mouth.

“I know,” she murmured, voice low, teasing. “I’m turning into one giant lesbian cliché.”

The words and smirk caught Lenora off guard. She blinked, stunned for a moment, and Sol’s smirk deepened slightly at her confusion.

“My eyebrow hair probably won’t grow back right,” Sol explained. “People are definitely going to think I gave myself a slit on purpose.”

The joke missed its mark entirely, and Lenora’s fingers tensed around her face, not harsh, but firm.

“Don’t make jokes right now.”

The smirk vanished immediately as Sol’s expression softened. Her gaze swept over Lenora’s face, no doubt taking in the smeared makeup, the red-rimmed eyes, the exhaustion etched in the wrinkles that no doubt deepened due to this experience.

“Okay,” Sol whispered. Her own hand rose, gently cupping Lenora’s cheek, as her thumb brushed softly across skin that still felt too cold.

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