16. Penelope
Chapter 16
Penelope
In the darkness, I can’t move.
I struggle, but it feels like I’m trying to drag myself through molasses, something thick and heavy. All I can see are walls, made of unyielding stone, and when I reach one of them, I run my hands over it, trying to find some opening, some way out. But it holds firm. It’s solid, with no breaks, and no matter which way I turn, there’s nothing but more walls holding me in.
I have no idea where I am, but I feel lost and panicked. The feeling of being trapped makes it hard to breathe. I search for a window, a crack, anything that will at least let me get some air, but there’s nothing. Just endless stretches of nothing.
I try to run, but I don’t get far. Taking steps is twice as hard as it should be, and I just can’t seem to get any distance. Everything looks exactly the same, dark, bleak. There’s no light to guide my way, and the stone of the walls is icy cold, burning my hands with frost after a while.
When I open my mouth to call out to someone, no sound comes out. I try to scream and it’s the same thing. I feel the cry building in my chest, clawing its way out of my throat, but it’s silent.
Tears of fear and frustration well in my eyes, and I try not to start hyperventilating. There has to be a way out of here. There has to be something I can try.
I spin in a desperate circle, but it’s all the same, and I’m right back where I started, no progress made.
“Did you think you were worth it?” a voice asks, harsh and cutting.
I stumble back, caught off guard. Again, when I try to call out to the voice, no sound comes out of my mouth.
“Stupid,” the voice says. “Always so fucking stupid.”
“Weak,” another voice cuts in, just as cold and cruel as the first. “You were always so weak. You couldn’t do anything on your own, could you?”
“That’s not true!” I say. I try to say. My mouth moves on the words at the very least.
The voices laugh in unison. “Yeah, right,” one of them sneers. “You wouldn’t know if it was true or not. You can’t even see how pathetic you are.”
A third voice joins in, or maybe it’s a blend of the first two. At this point I can’t tell. “You’re disgusting. No one in their right mind would want to touch you. No one would even miss you if you stayed here. Who would care?”
The laughter gets louder, more intense, and I stumble back, trying to get away. But the sound is coming from everywhere now. It echoes against the stone, reverberating until it’s all I can hear.
I slam my hands over my ears, trying to block it out, but it doesn’t do any good.
“Weak! Stupid! Ugly! Fat! Broken!” The words come rapid fire now, each one echoed over and over again. It’s a chorus of cruelty, of all the worst things I could ever think about myself.
I take off running again, and while I can move a little better now than I could before, it’s not like the distance does me any good. The sound is coming from all around, and the way forward is the same as everything behind me. I’m trapped here, forced to listen as the abuse gets louder and louder.
And then I stumble. My foot catches on something on the ground and it pitches me forward, sending me to the ground in a heap. I try to struggle back to my feat, but what’s the point?
There’s nowhere to go, no one here to save me. I can’t even fight back because I have no voice in this place. All I can do is listen as the words drown out the sound of my harsh breathing and my frantic heartbeat.
I crawl to a corner of whatever this place is and tuck myself in as small as I can, keeping my hands over my ears.
The voices just keep laughing. They keep mocking me. “Stupid little girl,” one taunts. “Hide away from it all. That’s all you’re good for, isn’t it? Run and hide like a baby.”
“Stop it,” I plead silently, tears streaming down my face. “Stop it, please.”
“Stop it,” a voice mocks, and I guess me not being able to hear myself doesn’t stop them from hearing me. “Listen to yourself, you idiot.”
“Please,” I beg. “Please, please, please. Just leave me alone.”
The laughter gets so loud it hurts my ears. So loud it starts to feel like physical blows against my skin. I tuck myself into an even smaller ball, trying to protect myself, trying to do what little I can, and then ? —
And then I wake up with a gasp.
My muscles ache from being bunched up with tension, and I’m curled into the fetal position under the covers. I uncurl myself stiffly and sit up, chest heaving as I take desperate gulps of air.
A shadow at the foot of the bed makes me jump and flinch back, but my eyes adjust to the dim light of my bedroom enough to recognize that it’s Tristan standing there.
“What—” I start to ask, but my voice comes out raspy.
He comes around to the side of the bed, standing close. “You were having a nightmare,” he says.
He’s so close now, his body a line of warmth and solid strength. His scent eases through the room, and it’s so familiar at this point that it feels almost like safety.
Without really thinking about it, I reach out, still disoriented from the nightmare and waking up to him hear. For all I know, this could be another dream. Even if it’s not, my body instinctively wants comfort, wants to move toward something or someone that could keep me safe from the pain I was in before.
So my arms end up around Tristan’s waist, and I cling to him, burying my face against his stomach. His skin is warm from sleep, and it chases away some of the chill I can still feel, making it easier to relax.
There’s a sharp intake of breath from him, and I feel it as it moves through his body. For the first few seconds he doesn’t move, but then gradually, his arms come up and his hands settle on my shoulders.
It’s a stiff sort of hold, and it’s clear that he’s not the most comfortable or experienced with this. But he’s still here. He’s not pushing me away.
I’m willing to take what I can get at this point, and I hold on to him until my body stops trembling and my head clears a little.
Of course, coming back to myself makes it easier to realize that this is weird. No two ways about it.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen Tristan touch anyone, besides when we kissed at our wedding, and here I am clinging to him like a scared kid with their favorite stuffed animal in the middle of the night.
My cheeks heat with embarrassment, and I pull away awkwardly, trying to spare him from having to deal with this anymore. He’s made it pretty clear that he’s just tolerating this arrangement, and just tolerating me because of it. The least I can do is not make it more uncomfortable for him.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, biting my lip. “And… thank you. For being here. I’m all right now.” It’s not quite the truth, but close enough. My heartrate is still faster than it should be, and I have the lingering fear that if I close my eyes to sleep again, I’ll be back in that place, listening to those voices tell me all the worst things about myself again.
But that’s not Tristan’s problem.
He’s still standing there, his eyes flickering over my face like he’s trying to suss out if I’m being honest or not.
“Really,” I say. “I’ll be okay. You don’t have to stick around.”
After one last look, Tristan nods his head and slips out of my bedroom, leaving me alone.
Even though he said a grand total of about five words while he was in here, it seems quieter in the room with him gone. After the loud nightmare I had, I would have thought that the quiet would help, but instead my brain is just filling the silence with memories of the nightmare.
I lie back down in bed and try to get comfortable, but it’s hard. Whenever I close my eyes, it feels like I’m seeing that room I was trapped in again. Endless walls and nowhere to go. No matter how hard I try to force myself to remember that I’m not trapped, it doesn’t really work. The feelings of that nightmare, the way it made me feel, all of that is connected to a time in my life that I’ve tried so hard to forget.
But apparently it’s always going to be with me, sneaking up on me to make my dreams terrible even now.
I turn over onto my back, staring at the ceiling. This house is about as far from being trapped as I could get, as far from my shitty apartment as I could get, and it’s still not enough. No amount of staring at the windows and trying to remind myself that it’s okay is helping, and I’m left feeling restless and frustrated, unable to sleep or shake the fear the nightmare caused in me.
Finally, I gather up a couple of pillows and the comforter from my bed and slip down the hall to where Tristan’s room is.
I don’t give myself time to doubt or worry that this is a stupid idea. I just knock on his door, shifting from foot to foot in the hallway.
His voice is gruff, but soft when he says, “Come in,” and I push the door open to step inside.
Tristan is back in bed, sitting up so the covers pool around his waist. In the dark I can’t make out much about the space, but I’m not really focused on that anyway. His bed is large and looks inviting, and maybe having company will help keep the nightmares at bay.
“I, um… I might have overstated how all right I was,” I tell him, feeling my cheeks heat with embarrassment all over again. “So I was wondering I could just sleep on your floor for the rest of the night because I really don’t want to be alone right now. I’ll be quiet, and you won’t even know I’m here, I promise.”
He looks at me for a second and then nods again, gesturing to the floor.
“Thank you,” I say, sighing with relief.
I make a little nest with the pillows and blankets I brought from my room, and even though it’s nowhere near as comfortable as the bed I left behind, just knowing that someone else is in the room is already helping.
I curl up with the comforter and try to slow my breathing, closing my eyes.
From the bed above, I hear creaking and the mattress moving, so I can tell that Tristan isn’t comfortable. Every few minutes he shifts, tossing and turning in the bed, clearly no closer to sleeping.
I cringe a little because I know it’s because of me. He’s obviously uncomfortable with the situation and with me being so close. I should have gone to bother Xavier instead. Or I should have just given up on sleeping altogether so I didn’t bother anyone. That would have been the smart thing to do.
Now I’m keeping Tristan up because I had a nightmare, and that’s so inconsiderate.
“This isn’t going to work,” Tristan finally says, after about half an hour of him failing to get comfortable.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I can just…”
I trail off and shuffle out from the nest, starting to gather everything back up again. Maybe I’ll bake some biscuits if I’m not sleeping. Something we can have for breakfast. If I knew what Tristan liked, I’d make something for him as an apology for being such a pain in his ass.
“Wait,” he says, and it comes out sharp. He pauses. Takes a breath. “I didn’t mean leave.”
“Oh. I thought…”
He pulls down one side of the covers on his bed. “Just come here.”
I blink in confusion for several seconds, staring at the inviting bed like I’ve never seen one before. He can’t mean…
“You don’t have to do that,” I hurry to tell him. “I don’t need to be in your bed. I know you like your space, and I just barged in here on you. I’m being so rude, and I’m not your problem.”
My words stumble over each other in their haste to get out of my mouth, and I can hear how thick my southern accent is right now.
“You are my problem,” Tristan says firmly. “As long as you’re wearing my ring, you will be. And there is no way in hell I’m letting my wife sleep on the floor when there’s a perfectly good bed available.”
It’s probably the most words I’ve heard him say at one time, and they’re all encouraging. It takes me by surprise, and even though I’m still hesitant to invade his space more than I already have, he seems determined and that’s a comfort.
“Okay,” I murmur. “If you’re sure.”
He just gives me a look that says he’s not going to repeat himself, and I take that as my sign to stop looking this gift horse in the mouth. I climb into the bed with him, and I’m immediately wrapped up in his scent. It clings to the blankets and the pillows, and it’s all warm and comfortable—and most of all, it feels utterly safe.
Tristan’s quiet presence is so soothing, and when I roll onto my side and close my eyes, I’m not immediately thrown back into the terror of my nightmare. Instead I focus on Tristan’s soft breathing and the heat of his body I can feel behind me.
I match my breathing to his, letting everything in me relax, and gradually I drift off to sleep, my fears finally fading.