11 Cassius
Not Tonight
Zae falls asleep faster than I expect.
One second she’s warm and squirmy against me, and the next her body goes heavy in my arms. Her breathing evens out, slow and soft enough to relax my body with hers.
My arm is wrapped around her waist, my hand resting just under the hem of her shirt where my thumb keeps brushing bare skin like it has a mind of its own. My legs are tangled with hers, like a human pretzel, and my heart? Yeah, that’s a whole separate mess.
I stare at the ceiling in the dark, eyes straining even though there’s nothing to see but vague shapes and a slice of light from the streetlamp outside.
I should move. I should put space between us.
I should do literally anything other than stay right here, hard as fuck and wrapped around the one person I definitely shouldn’t be wrapped around.
But when I try to inch back, she makes this tiny sound in her sleep and chases me, scooting her back against my chest. I try to think about boring shit. Math homework, my anger management, the skateboard trucks I need to tighten, anything that doesn’t involve the girl in my arms.
It doesn’t work.
Eventually, my eyelids get heavy, and exhaustion finally catches up. I press my nose into the back of her head once, just to breathe her in, and then the weight of everything starts to blur as I drift off into a deep sleep.
I don’t know how long I’m out before it starts.
At first, it’s just noise mixing into whatever dream I’m having—something with a skate park and my board refusing to cooperate.
There’s a sound, high and strained, and my brain tries to cram it into the dream.
Someone yelling at me from the stands. A siren.
Then it happens again, and my eyes snap open. For a second, I’m disoriented as hell. The room is too dark and there’s a warm weight in my arms. But then it all snaps back and I register the way she’s moving.
Zae is still facing away from me, but her whole body has gone rigid. Her shoulders are curled in with her back tight. My arm is still around her middle, and under my palm her breathing is fast and shallow, sucking in and out in short bursts that are not sleep-relaxed.
Another sound punches out of her throat, softer this time but worse somehow. Like she’s trying not to let it escape and failing.
“Zae?” I rasp, my voice rough with sleep. “Hey. Zae.”
She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even flinch at my voice. Her fingers are curled in the blanket, knuckles tight. Her legs twitch, like she’s about to bolt, and I feel this cold, nasty spike of adrenaline shoot through me.
A real night terror.
I know she gets them. I’ve just… never seen one this bad before.
“Zae,” I try again, a little sharper. I lift my head, trying to see her face, but all I get is a partial profile—her jaw clamped, lips parted, eyes squeezed shut.
“Please,” she whispers suddenly, voice wrecked. “Please don’t—please—”
Every muscle in my body goes tight.
Nope. We’re not doing this.
“Hey.” I bring my mouth closer to her ear. “Zae. It’s me. You’re safe. Wake up for me, Sunshine.”
She jerks at that, something in her reacting to my voice. Her breathing stutters. Her hips try to twist like she’s both trying to fight and get away.
“Zara.” I use her full first name, the one she pretends to hate. My hand slides up from her waist to her shoulder, giving a small shake. “You’re dreaming. You’re in my bed. You’re safe. Wake up.”
She lets out another broken sound, and this one? This one cuts through me.
Fuck this.
I roll onto my back and bring her with me, turning her so she’s facing me now. She’s deadweight at first, limbs not cooperating. When I get her on her side, facing me, I brace one hand at the back of her head and the other cupping her cheek gently.
“Zae. Hey. Look at me, c’mon.” My thumb brushes her cheekbone, and I realize she’s crying. Silent tears are sliding down toward her ears.
My chest twists in a way that’s almost too painful.
“Zara,” I say again, low and steady. “Open your eyes. Please.”
Her eyelids twitch. Another tear leaks out. Her fingers spasm, like she’s reaching for something that isn’t there. I do the one thing that’s never failed to get her attention when she’s spiraling. I press my forehead to hers.
“Hey,” I whisper, closing my eyes just for a second. “It’s Cass. You’re here with me. You’re not there. Breathe with me, okay? In.”
I take a slow, deliberate breath, pulling her closer until our chests almost sync.
“Out,” I murmur, letting it go slowly.
I keep doing it, counting in my head, being obvious enough that her body can follow if it wants.
“C’mon, Sunshine. Come back.”
Her lashes twitch again as she sucks in a sharp breath like she’s been underwater too long, and then her eyes fly open. For a second, she doesn’t see me. I can tell. Her gaze shoots past my shoulder, past the room, looking straight at something that isn’t here.
“Zae,” I call to her. “Right here. It’s just me.”
Her eyes finally land on mine, refocusing. Her whole body jolts, like she hadn’t realized she was being touched until now. Then her hands shoot up and fist in my shirt, clinging so hard the fabric strains.
“Cass,” she gasps, voice shredded. “Oh my God.”
“Yeah,” I answer softly. “Hi.”
For a moment, she just stares at me, breathing like she ran a marathon. Then it hits her and she crumples, dragging herself closer and burying her face in my neck. I wrap both arms around her instantly, one palm splayed between her shoulder blades, the other cradling the back of her head.
“I got you,” I murmur, over and over, because it’s the only thing that feels right. “I’m here. You’re okay. You’re okay.”
Her shoulders shake. I feel dampness on my collarbone where her tears soak through the fabric. She doesn’t sob loudly—no ugly crying noises, no wails—but the way she’s shaking against me says enough.
I hate it.
Time gets weird. It could be three minutes or thirty. Her breathing slowly shifts from panicked to just wrecked. Eventually, she pulls back a tiny bit so she can look at me. Her eyes are puffy and glassy. She swipes at it with the heel of her hand as if she doesn’t want me to see it.
“Sorry,” she croaks. “I—I didn’t mean to… wake you up. Or ruin your night. Or—”
“Don’t,” I say immediately, my hand tightening at her back. “Don’t apologize for that. Literally ever.”
She swallows, gaze darting away before she drags it back to mine. “You were actually asleep, though,” she mumbles.
“Rude,” I say quietly. “I never sleep. Thank you.”
She lets out a sound that’s half a laugh, half a whimper. “Shut up.”
“There she is.” I brush my thumb along her cheekbone again. “You back with me?”
“Yeah.” Her voice drops. “Mostly.”
I hesitate for a second. Then I go for it.
“Another night terror? Do you want to talk about it?” I pause, catching myself. “You don’t have to tell me. But you can. If you want. I’m not going anywhere.”
Her fingers twist in my shirt again. For a second, I think she’s going to shut down, throw up that wall she uses when things get too close. Crack a joke. Change the subject. Ask if my morning wood has a name again or some shit. Instead, she takes a shaky breath and nods.
“Yeah,” she whispers. “It’s always the same one.”
My chest tightens. “Okay. Walk me through it. Only if you want. Just… talk to me, Zae. Don’t stay in there by yourself.”
She stares at my collarbone like the words are written there, then shifts a little closer, thigh pressed along mine, her forehead almost resting under my chin now. It’s like she’s using my body as a shield.
“Remember when I missed that week of school sophomore year?” she asks suddenly.
I blink. “Yeah. Of course I do. It was a weird fucking week without you."
“Yeah, well.” Her mouth twists. “This has to do with that.”
My stomach drops a little, remembering she missed because her dad was having her mom committed for self-harm dangers. “Okay.”
She stares at her hands instead of my face, like she’s watching the memory play out there.
“I was fifteen,” she starts in a quiet voice. “You were what, sixteen? Already taller than me and permanently pissed off at the world.”
“Some things never change,” I mutter, trying to keep myself from spiraling at what she’s about to share.
Her mouth tugs up for half a second before it fades. “I walked home that day,” she goes on. “From school. It was stupid hot. Like, melting-your-sneakers-to-the-sidewalk hot. They were supposed to pick me up and they just… didn’t.”
I feel my jaw tense. “They ‘forgot,’” I say, because I remember that part. I remember her texting me that she had to walk home. I remember being fucking furious because I was already home. Because Mama would have given her a ride if she needed it.
“Yeah.” She gives a humorless huff. “Forgot. So I’m already mad, right? Sweaty, annoyed, with this stupid-heavy backpack. I get to the house and it’s quiet. Like… weird quiet. No TV. No music.”
She swallows.
“I yelled ‘I’m home!’ like I always did. Nothing. My dad was at work, but my mom was supposed to be home. So I thought maybe my mom was napping or something. I dropped my bag and went looking. Her bedroom door was open but she wasn’t there. Then I heard it.”
She goes still for a second. I don’t rush her.
“I heard water running, like the tub was on. I thought maybe she’d left the faucet on or something.
Our water bill was already a nightmare, and she’d have freaked if it got higher.
So I went to the bathroom door and there was…
” Her hand flexes. “There was water coming out from under the door, but it was… red.”
Something in me squeezes so hard it’s difficult to breathe. My hand slides up her back until I’m cupping the back of her neck, thumb rubbing slow circles there.
“I remember just… standing there, staring at it, thinking, ‘that’s not right.’ It took my brain a second to catch up. Then everything clicked all at once and I just…” Her voice cracks. “I kicked the door open.”
Her breathing gets choppier again, like what she’s about to say is too heavy for her lungs.