Chapter 20
TWENTY
Curled up on the couch, I remain motionless, yet internally, I’ve been battling a relentless war for hours now. A war to silence the voice in my head that terribly resembles Mother’s.
I broke down so hard that even Jamie seemed worried. The music he chose for me, a song I’d never heard before but instinctively knew must be one of Grey’s, has been on repeat since.
A beacon of light in my personal darkness.
Having finally calmed down enough to stand and retrieve my smartwatch from where I had thrown it earlier, I strap it back on. It’s already three a.m.
I’m not physically tired, but mentally, I’m exhausted.
After getting a glass of water from the kitchen, I settle back onto the couch, taking a long sip before setting it down on my coffee table. Then, leaning back, I let my head fall against the cushions and take a deep breath, just staring out the window into the night.
It’s as if my soul is aching.
No way I can go to sleep like this.
My phone vibrates, pulling my gaze from the outside. I pick it up to find a text from Misha.
What could he want this late?
Misha
You up?
It’s scary how quickly that pulls me out of my pit of self-pity, and I can’t help but smile.
What kind of booty call is this?
:)
Not that kind. Unless you want it to be?
Rolling my eyes, I reply.
What’s up? It’s 3 a.m. You okay?
Sure, I was getting ready for my hike and thought maybe you wanna join?
Oh my God, yes.
That is a much better alternative to staying here alone and dwelling on what was said during that awful phone call.
Yes, please.
Do you have hiking boots and a jacket? It’s cold before the sun comes up.
I stand and walk over to the utility room to make sure. And there, in the back, is my hiking gear with boots, backpack, and jacket.
I do.
Got a headlamp too?
I’ve never hiked in the dark before, so I haven’t thought of buying one.
Shit.
Is that necessary? Because I don’t.
Mine should be fine for both of us.
I’ll just have to keep you close.
:)
Meet you in ten.
In ten?
In a flash, I run to my bedroom to change into my hiking clothes and braid my hair. My movements are hurried as I finish filling up my water bottle, just in time for another text from Misha to ping through.
Here.
When I open the door, he’s there, leaning casually against the frame, with a lopsided grin spreading across his face. The sight of him, so relaxed and carefree, sends that now-familiar flutter through my chest.
“Ready?” he asks, his eyes twinkling with a hint of adventure.
“Just need to slip on my shoes,” I respond, stepping back to grab my hiking boots, feeling his eyes on me the entire time.
“Take them with you, but for now, put on sneakers,” Misha comments as I’m about to slip into them. “It’s less of a mess in the car for Oliver to complain about, and your feet will thank me later when we switch back from the hiking boots.”
I chuckle, shaking my head as I put on my sneakers. “Oliver will complain about the car?”
“Oh, he so will when we’re going in there with the dirty boots. He’d have us vacuuming it out if we brought one speck of dirt inside. And I don’t know about you, but I hate vacuuming.”
Putting on my jacket and grabbing my backpack, I step out to Misha and close the door behind me, locking it with my smartwatch.
“I have a Hoover robot, so yes, hoovering is the worst,” I agree wholeheartedly.
“God, you sound so British.” Misha chuckles, taking my hand as he pulls me to the elevator.
Today, I’ll let myself enjoy his constant affection and touches.
Not only could I use some comfort right now, but he’s so good at providing it.
“Duh, that’s because I am British,” I mutter as we step inside.
Misha tugs at my braid. “You’ve got that posh London accent that makes everything sound like a royal decree,” he teases, his voice dropping to a whisper as he leans closer.
“I love it.” I feel a blush creep up my cheeks in time with another flutter in my stomach, and my breath hitches.
“And it’s so easy to make you blush. So damn cute. ”
I manage a faint smile as I nudge his shoulder, making him chuckle, but I’m relieved when the elevator doors open to the garage.
Stepping out into the cool, dimly lit space, I catch sight of the white Tesla parked a few feet away. Misha keeps hold of my hand, leading me toward the car with easy confidence.
He opens the passenger door for me and grabs my shoes and backpack before I slide into the seat. “Thanks,” I murmur, trying to steady my voice as I buckle up.
Misha closes the door with a thud and walks to the trunk to put away our stuff before he makes his way to the driver’s side, sliding in.
The car starts quietly, and soon, we’re gliding out of the garage, the city lights blurring past us as we head toward the open road. The passing streetlights cast shifting shadows across his face, emphasizing his contemplation as he navigates the quiet streets.
Misha glances at me, his brown eyes almost black in the dim light. “Why were you awake?” he asks, his voice low and smooth, almost blending into the background noise of the radio quietly playing.
I shift in my seat, clasping my hands in my lap to still their nervous twitching. “Who said I was awake?” I respond, attempting to deflect with a half-hearted smirk. The memory of Mother’s harsh words echoes in my ears and still lingers too close to the surface.
I’m not ready to dive into that with Misha—or anyone.
He doesn’t seem convinced and gives me a knowing look, one eyebrow slightly raised. “Did I wake you then?”
“No, you didn’t,” I admit, my gaze drifting out the window. The reflection of my face in the glass looks back at me, more tired and strained than I’d like to admit.
“So, why were you awake?” he persists, his voice gentle yet insistent, as if he’s peeling back layers he knows are there but hasn’t yet seen.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I murmur, almost too quietly, hoping to leave it at that.
“Something bothering you?” His question hangs in the air, a mild but unwavering challenge.
“No,” I lie, a reflex more than anything. The word feels heavy on my tongue, loaded with all the things I keep buried.
Misha nods, seemingly accepting my answer, but his next question is softer, more direct. “How are you, Amelia?”
“Fine,” I mutter, staring at the undulating patterns of light on the dashboard.
“And how are you, really?” he pushes a little further, his voice tinged with a concern that makes my chest tighten.
I want this to be fun. I want to spend some time with Misha, and I don’t want to ruin his hike because I can’t seem to stop worrying him.
I’m fucking all of this up.
Meeting his gaze briefly before looking away, I confess, “I’m not great at sharing my emotions.”
“Fair enough,” he acknowledges. Then, after a pause, he adds, almost playfully, “Nice weather today, isn’t it?” I shoot him a skeptical look, confused. “Weather is the safest topic there is. Easy to talk about the weather.”
“Maybe…” I respond hesitantly, trying to gauge his intentions.
“So, would you say it’s rather cloudy? Maybe you think it’s going to rain?”
“What? No, it should be sunny today. You said—”
“Amelia, how is the weather inside you?” he interrupts.
Caught off guard, I pause, my defenses wavering under the weight of his sincerity.
I can give him that.
“Stormy,” I admit, the word feeling too inadequate for the turmoil inside.
“That’s okay because storms pass,” he murmurs, his warm smile reaching his eyes as his hand finds my knee, giving it a gentle squeeze.
I glance at Misha when he focuses back on the road, noticing the deep lines of fatigue etching his face. “You don’t look like you just woke up either,” I comment, feeling my own concern for him rising.
Misha gives a brief, humorless chuckle, his hands gripping the steering wheel a bit tighter. “True, that’s because I didn’t. I have insomnia. It feels like I can never really sleep.”
“Why is that?”
With a sigh, he glances briefly at me before his eyes return to the road. “It’s been like this forever, can’t remember any different. Especially when I was a kid.”
Encouraging him to continue, I tilt my head. “How come?”
“Well, growing up, we didn’t have separate rooms. I shared one with my two older brothers, and my two little sisters shared another.
My parents slept in the living room on the sofa because the apartment was too small for all of us,” he explains, a distant look crossing his features.
“There was never any space just for me, no quiet place. I thought the noise kept me awake, but later, I realized it wasn’t the problem.
I still can’t sleep, even though I’m alone and in my own room.
It’s more like the silence is too loud now.
I’d grown used to always having someone around. ”
“That makes sense,” I utter quietly. “I can’t really relate since I was always alone and had way too much space in a big house.
Quite the opposite, but I understand what you’re saying.
” A small grin briefly lights up Misha’s face.
“Can’t you slip into Oliver’s or Grey’s bed for some company?
” I tease, trying to inject some lightness into the conversation.
His laughter, genuine but tinged with sarcasm, fills the car.
“Well, Grey would probably kick my ass for trying. I guess Oliver would just cuddle close. But I figured out a long time ago that company doesn’t help either.
It’s just something I’ve got to deal with.
” His gaze shifts back to the road, the earlier levity fading as quickly as it appeared.
Watching him, a pang of empathy tightens in my chest. He’s like me in some ways, yet so different.
It’s strange how we all carry our silent battles, isn’t it?
“How did you figure that out?” I ask, genuinely curious about how he navigated through his sleepless nights.