CHAPTER 7 CORALINE
CORALINE
Screaming.
Someone is screaming so loud it makes my stomach flip upside down. The scream you hear in horror movies. A terror-filled scream that makes blood drain from your face.
As my fingernails claw deep into the thin white sheets, I realize it’s me who’s screaming. Then, I’m facing the wooden ceiling, sucking in large breaths vehemently, as though I’ve been drowning. My lungs burn, thirsting for air.
All I can do is yell from the horror that fuels my veins.
My blood runs cold, but my skin is clammy.
This feeling of being chased gnaws at my heart and soul, leaving me trembling and covering my mouth.
I pull at it as I try to stop screaming, but nothing changes.
I don’t recognize my surroundings, which makes everything feel a thousand times worse.
Suddenly, the door explodes open, but I’m too afraid to look at the intruder.
I stay screaming, frozen with terror. I’m afraid to move because I fear the man from the wreckage will come back and finish what he started.
It’s irrational, but I can’t think straight right now with so much uncertainty hovering over me like a hopeless cloud.
I pull my knees to my chest like it’ll save me from my attacker. Then I feel strong, big hands grip my biceps, squeezing me so tight that I open my eyes.
It's the man from earlier.
The one with the blue, enchanting eyes.
Gavin.
“You’ve got some lungs,” he says hoarsely. “You’re okay.”
I stiffen, my body still shaking from the tremors. His hold intensifies gently; it steals me away from my panic attack.
He looks at me, worried, and doesn’t let his grip on my body falter as the last yelps die out brokenly.
I don’t know why, but I trust him enough to let him help.
It’s rare for me to find those types of people.
After one conversation with them, I feel safe, and that’s how I feel with Gavin.
If he wanted to hurt me, he would have already.
Those green, highly texturized flecks in his vibrant blue console me, like a warm blanket.
They flick side to side vehemently, searching for something deeper.
“I’m…I’m sorry. It was a bad dream.” I breathe out heavily.
He blinks at the lamp to my right side and lets me go. He reaches over me, his shoulder brushing against mine, allowing me to get a whiff of his scent—masculine, minty, and natural, kind of like the smell of pine. He pulls the metal string of a lamp, turning on the light.
He watches me intensely as I try to calm myself down with each deep breath.
He probably thinks I’m crazy. Hell, I think I’m going crazy.
I hadn’t realized I was crying until he brushes my cheek with the pad of his thumb, wiping my tear away horizontally until it’s nothing. I watch him watch me, until the dread dissolves away slowly.
His dark, disheveled locks caress his forehead, as if he were in the middle of a deep sleep.
I look down to realize he's not wearing a shirt, only black sweatpants. His chest hair hugs his pecs, and his ab muscles constrict as he breathes in and out. I’m freezing, dressed in layers of clothing, unable to feel my fingers entirely, but he’s shirtless.
It’s probably because he’s used to these kinds of conditions.
“I’m sorry for waking you up.”
“Don’t apologize,” he replies instantly, still wearing an unreadable mask.
He shakes his head once and then reaches for my forehead. His fingers lift the bandage, like he’s checking if I’m healing alright.
“It doesn't hurt. Not anymore,” I murmur. Our bodies are so close I can smell him. He smells...good.
“Great.” He clears his throat as though he’s nervous.
“You don’t know me, and I know this must be horrifying.
You’ve been through a lot in the past few days, but it looked like you needed someone to bring you out of that nightmare.
I know PTSD when I see it,” he says, inching further away on the edge of the bed.
“I’m glad it doesn’t hurt.” He nods toward the top of my head.
Then he places the bandage back in its place.
He pushes me back down gently with his tight grip on my shoulders until my head falls back onto the pillow. He stands and takes a step back.
“Get some rest. I’ll be on the couch,” he says, spearing his hair with his hand and turning toward the door. “I’m sure you have a thousand questions running through your mind. I’ll answer all of them in the morning, but—”
My anxiety spikes when I realize he’s going to leave.
I don’t want to be alone. I've never felt like this before. But that nightmare felt so real. Felt so vivid. It was more than just a figment of my imagination. It has to be a memory.
“How do you know about PTSD?” I blurt, cutting him off.
He stops walking and lifts a brow.
“What I’m trying to say is, have you had nights where you wake up screaming?” I ask.
I’m not surprised I’ve already developed some sort of fight or flight response. It has to be a symptom of my head injury.
He pivots on his feet until his attention is pinned on me.
“Worse.” He folds his arms across his chest. “Nights where I wake up unable to speak.”
I swallow. There’s an underlying pain attached to his deep voice. Even though his sleepy tone is doing a good job at hiding it, sadness flickers through his eyes. That’s when I see a clue into his life. Looking down, I spot a tattoo of the Navy SEAL trident on his bicep.
Is he in the military? A veteran?
“I’m going to get going. I have—” He takes another step toward the door, but I can’t help it. I’m in a cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, terrified that the man who ran me off the road is still here, lurking.
“Wait, where’s Merelyn?” I ask, truly curious. “Why are you sleeping on the couch? Is Merelyn occupying the other bedroom?”
“There’s only one bedroom in my home. I live alone,” he answers simply before he draws out a yawn.
“But where is she?”
There’s a storm? I thought the roads were closed, and that’s why I couldn’t get to a hospital.
“She lives right next door on my land. Feet away. Goodnight, Coraline. Leave the questions for the morning.”
I purse my lips together. The thought of going back to sleep and going back into my nightmares again terrifies me. Gavin notices my hesitation and does a double-take at me and the door, and starts to walk away.
The sound of the wind howling through the window before me calls my attention. I look at it and watch the snow patter harshly on the window glass.
He stops walking, and his back muscles tense up. He turns to me and has a softened expression.
I look at the ivory lampshade that sits on the wooden nightstand by my bed. There’s a pile of aged books with tanned yellow paper and a notepad with a pen.
“I was dreaming about the car wreck. The person who forced me off the road in the first place.”
His eyes pierce through me like daggers. I've struck his curiosity, and he watches me like he's testing me.
“Do you remember what he looked like?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“No. He was in a mask. It looked like he was going to take it off, but then I fainted.”
Thunder draws my attention toward the window.
“Do you know why you would be getting chased?” he asks. “Do you know why this person is trying to kill you?”
“No.” Furrowing my brows, I shut my eyes.
“I don’t want to be alone,” I murmur as I sit up and swallow nervously.
“That person who was chasing me down the road could be out there, watching me.” I nip my bottom lip until it stings.
“What if he tries to finish me off? What if he breaks in and hurts one of you? What if—”
His palm covers my mouth, silencing me. It was hard, almost like a slap.
“Hey!” I shout in his palm, but it comes out muffled as he continues to press down on my lips.
“No more fucking what-ifs. No one else lives up here. The roads will be closed for the next few weeks. Maybe even a month. No one is getting hurt.” He removes his hand.
Slouching, I glare at him. Deep down inside of me, I know I needed that to snap me out of my anxiety.
“Weeks? A month?” I gasp. “I don’t have a month here, Gavin.”
I claw at my bedsheets again, and groan when I realize my rib pain is back. I take in a sharpened breath and squeeze my eyes tight. Maybe if I take shorter breaths, it’ll hurt less. I glance toward him again and wince.
“I don’t know what to tell you. The phones are down. I have no internet. There’s no signal. My ranch is hidden deep in the woods. Hell, I can’t remember the last time I saw an airplane or helicopter fly overhead.”
My heart sinks.
“How do you live out here like this?” I ask, trying to withhold my judgmental thoughts. I’m a city girl through and through. I can live without the busy streets and buildings, but no internet? No cell signal? In the Alaskan wilderness?
He takes a step forward like he's going to take a seat in the corner of the room where I first met Merelyn.
“Gavin, baby? Where are you?”
A woman calls out in the distance—her voice is different from Merelyn’s. She sounds younger with a high-pitched tone. Does he have a girlfriend?