Chapter 40
forty
The usual dream wakes me in the usual way—with panic and flaring pain, all tinged with dark red.
But this isn’t my usual place or situation.
I flail, my body jolting itself into consciousness. My hands slam into something covering me, shoving it off. My arm sweeps out solidly, removing the chains keeping me—
Oh.
Fuck.
A small scream scrapes my ears, followed by a sickening thud and the rattle of plates clattering to the floor. Fear takes root inside me as I snap my head to the side, bleary eyes burning against the overhead lights.
Because I’m not in my bed.
This is my living room. And the weight on top of me wasn’t trying to smother me into a puddle of my father’s blood.
It was Alice.
I curse viciously, flying upright. Alice stays perfectly still, sprawled against the table and the gray rug underneath. She looks afraid, like she went to sleep with a beloved pet and woke to a rabid beast.
I scramble forward, chest heaving, back covered in a sheen of sweat. Shame cramps my lungs, my hands reaching for her immediately.
“Alice.”
I drop to my knees, not giving a damn if the broken stoneware—including my father’s last tea mug—cuts me. She trembles as I gather her into my damp chest, squeezing tenderly.
“I’m so sorry,” I rasp. “Jesus. I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
I pull back to run my eyes and palms over her shoulders, her wrists, her sides. Suddenly, she catches my hands.
“I-it’s okay,” she warbles, still wheezing. “I’m okay.”
Pain ripples through my marrow. She’s not fucking okay. Because of me. I shoved her into a table.
A lump thickens in my throat as I drop my hands from her body. Realizing I have no right to touch her ever again. My shoulders shake as I jerk backward, falling against the couch. “God. I could have—Fuck, I’m so sorry.”
Alice hesitates for half a second before launching herself at me. I catch her at the last second, instinct barely overriding my shock.
Why would she want to hug me right now? Why isn’t she afraid of me?
“Marco,” she murmurs, turning her face into my neck. “That dream sounded awful. Are you alright?”
Am I…?
Her compassion doesn’t even compute. I still can’t fucking believe I had a nightmare in front of her. Lashed out in my sleep. Hurt her.
And now she’s worried about me?
While I freeze, my lungs aching along with the swollen mass in my gullet, my sweet girl slips her arms around my neck. Her fingers find the sweaty hair at my nape, combing it gently. “You were talking,” she whispers, “Y-you said, ‘not him.’ D-do you want to tell me…?”
God. She’s so faultlessly good. Pure of heart, with the sharpest mind and endless empathy. I shudder in her embrace, my own flexing around her. Wishing I could pull her inside my body for safekeeping. Nothing so precious should be walking around unprotected.
Her soft touch skates down my spine. My teeth grind as I recall my dream and all the horrible realities that preceded it. “It’s a pretty hideous story.”
She cuddles closer. “You can tell me, if you want. Is it… something that happened overseas?”
Another shudder wracks me. “No,” I reply, the word bitter on my tongue as I mutter, “I have a whole other set of nightmares about that shit.”
None of this is her problem. I cup her delicate jaw in my hands, tilting her head back to look me in the eye.
“It never even occurred to me that I might hurt you during a nightmare,” I vow.
“I’ve had them for years, and I usually just…
wake up. Eventually. If I’d known you could have gotten hurt, I would have warned you or avoided sleeping near you at all.
I’m supposed to protect you, Alice. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. ”
Her soft features shatter into an expression of pure pain. “Stop that. I’m fine. What about you? Have you ever talked to anyone about these nightmares? M-maybe that would help.”
Jesus. Her pure, blue eyes. They cut right into my soul. Extracting words I really shouldn’t say.
“I haven’t talked about them,” I admit. “Because I’ve never told anyone else this story. Not the real one.”