Chapter Thirty Seven
My head lolls to one side, then back again.
I whimper, my dream softening just enough to realize that the visions behind my closed lids aren’t real before they pull me back in.
I’m dragged downwards, through the mattress and into the void waiting for me.
Everest’s voice warps around me as I tumble freely, echoing words of ownership that I lash out against. His claim is like a leash tightening around my throat, the air burning in my lungs as I buck and writhe.
A scream pierces my skull. I go still, hunting through the darkness for the source.
It comes again, the high-pitched, desperate sound cutting straight through me.
I start running, or at least I think I am.
My feet don’t seem to hit anything solid, my body dragging like I’m moving through thick air instead of space.
At first I thought I was moving away from the scream, but then I catch a flash of blonde hair and I realize, I’m running towards it.
“Laura!” I try to cry out, but my voice is swallowed before it can reach her.
Panic spikes within me, a sob locked in my shackled throat.
I should know where she is. I should know how to find her.
Shadowed figures appear on the edges of my vision, their shared whispers joining together to roar within my ears.
“Do something. Find her.” They’re everywhere, the press of bodies closing in. Some faces I recognize, others I don’t, but they all turn toward me with the same expression, the same accusation burning behind their eyes. “You failed her.”
My chest tightens, breath catching as I spin in place, trying to find her, but there’s nothing. No direction, no answers. Just noise, unbearable pressure and the overwhelming certainty that I’m already too late. Laura screams again and as I spin around, I’m airborne again, tumbling backwards.
I clasp for something to hold onto until my body seems to level out, not hitting hard ground but hanging suspended.
Fingers stroke against my scalp, deftly flicking the leash at my throat free so I can finally breathe again.
I lean into that touch, exhaling at the familiar brush.
I should have known Thiago would find me down here.
Deep in the recess of my mind. Sighing, I allow my heart rate to settle. I’m in safe hands now.
Lulled into a calm state, I flinch as a drip of water splashes against my cheek.
Then another, until a steady patter of droplets coat my face and hair.
I sit upright, and those skillful hands follow.
Massaging my scalp, stroking my hair with a sense of reverence.
The wisps of air around me thicken, becoming warm until a stream as thick as fog closes in.
Grabbing onto the hand running through my hair, I pull him around to face me, knowing who I’ll find before he comes into focus.
White hair clings damply to his forehead, stoney gray eyes lock onto mine with unnerving intensity.
Water beads along the sharp lines of his face, trailing down the slope of his jaw and disappearing into the hollow of his throat.
His chest rises and falls in slow, measured breaths that don’t quite match the charged fog around us.
Through it all, his expression remains stoic. I can’t gauge what he’s thinking, or why that bothers me so much. I want to know what he sees, what secrets he’s uncovering with the barest of looks.
His hands don’t leave me. One remains threaded in my hair, fingers curled loosely into the wet strands. The other slowly drifts along my arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake before curling around my wrist. His gaze flicks briefly to where his hand has settled, before returning to my face.
“I see everything you hide,” he murmurs into the void between my ears. I feel the truth of that statement in the pit of my soul. Reid remains distant and observes. He sees every crack I try to control, every fracture that I try to deflect. That’s what makes him so terrifying.
The steam thickens, curling tighter around us like a cage crafted by my own mind.
I squirm, becoming uncomfortable but Reid doesn’t even flinch.
Releasing my hair, his thumb brushes lightly along the side of my neck, tracking the erratic pulse there like he’s taking count of my heart rate.
My lips pop open, eyes growing heavy again.
I know what I want, what my mind is urging me to take, and my head automatically tilts back.
I wake up with a jolt, my hand clutching at my own wrist. The heavy pounding of punk rock bleeds through my wall, setting the bassline for the tremors set within my veins.
My ceiling comes into focus, my heart about to burst free of my chest. Sucking in rushed breaths, I kick the tangled covers from my legs, frantic to break free.
My skin is too warm, too tight, as if the ghost of his touch hasn’t quite faded.
“Fuck that,” I groan to the empty room, throwing my legs over the side of my mattress. “I have enough to unpack without adding someone else into the mix.”
Pushing to my feet, I don’t bother covering up my satin shortie set as I yank my door open, chasing down the source of the music.
Reid is to blame for the upheaval of my thoughts, at least that’s what I tell myself.
If not for the odd experience in the shower, then for the lack of a peaceful night’s sleep since I moved in.
Stomping to his doorstep, I raise my fist and bang on the wood.
“Hey! Have some consideration for your neighbors!” I shout like a cranky old woman, hitting harder and harder until the door rattles on its hinges. That’s the only hope I have for him hearing me over his never-ending music anyway.
No response comes, although I’m not surprised.
I exhale, dropping my forehead to the door with my palm pressed flat beside it.
My pulse is still racing, my thoughts tangled somewhere between Everest’s voice, Reid’s hands, and Laura’s screams. All of it plays on an incessant loop, haunting me in a way I can’t run from.
Drawing back, my limbs hang heavily as I start to turn away, until movement down the hallway catches my attention.
Rounding the corner, as if he’s been summoned by my irritation, Reid appears.
He looks at me with that same enraging coolness, headphones pushed into his ears and hair dried in all directions.
I stand taller, watching him approach in gray sweats and an off-white tee. My eyes turn to narrowed slits.
“You’re not even in there?!” I seethe, crossing my arms to demand an explanation.
Unsurprisingly, I don’t receive one. Reid’s gray eyes slide over my face and down my dusty pink pajamas, before he dismisses me in the same look.
Pushing a key into his lock, he twists and pushes the door open.
“Excuse me? I’m talking to you. You can’t just leave your music blaring if you’re—”
“Shh,” Reid briefly closes his eyes as if I’m the one making an obnoxious sound instead of his speakers. My mouth drops open before I can control my reaction.
“Did you just shush me?” I bite back, about to lose the lasting grip on my patience when Reid steps aside and signals for me to enter his room. I stare at him like he’s grown another head. “Are you insane?! No, I’m not—”
“Shh,” he repeats, gesturing to his room once again.
I scoff, dropping my arms. It’s far too late for this, yet against my better judgement, my feet shuffle forward.
Reid doesn’t crowd me, waiting until I’ve padded across his carpet and perched on the edge of his mattress.
Why, is beyond me, but it seemed like the better option to standing around awkwardly.
Keeping my head held high, I keep him in my eyeline at all times.
“Your music is obnoxious,” I state flatly, pressing my palms against my thighs. “And before you say anything, yes, I know that’s the point. It’s still obnoxious.”
Reid doesn’t argue. He steps inside, picks up a small controller and the music cuts off abruptly, leaving a ringing silence in its wake.
Closing the door, there’s a moment of darkness until the light is switched on.
My tired eyes take longer than necessary to adjust, but as soon as I do, I take an instinctive sweep of his room.
Instantly, I notice that the canvases behind his door are absent.
A small gush of air escapes me at that, glad I don’t have to face them again.
The curtains are half-drawn, and the desk is still covered in scattered sketchbooks and canvases.
There’s art everywhere. Pieces stacked against walls, pinned up in uneven lines, some finished, some abandoned halfway through as if he lost interest or became distracted.
There’s a new canvas on his easel, although it’s covered over. I dread to think what’s underneath, so instead, I find a spot on the carpet to stare at. The air is infused with graphite, paint fumes embedded into the furnishings.
Reid simply stands against the wall, the heat of his gaze tracking over me again.
The urge to shudder is ever-present, but I just about manage to taper it down.
What am I even doing here? Pushing away from the wall, Reid paces around his room, kicking off his sneakers and retrieving something from a drawer. The mattress dips beside me.
“Trouble sleeping?” he asks. I roll my eyes, landing on his face with my most deadpan expression.
Reid’s mouth curves ever-so slightly at the corner before he refocuses on his hands.
I drop my gaze too, watching him flip open a rectangular metal tin.
Inside, colored discs sit in a neat row, alongside skinny paintbrushes that have been well used.