Chapter 20
Isit up on a gasp, my stomach heaving and moisture flooding my mouth.
In that instant, I know I’m going to be sick.
Throwing back the covers, I fling myself out of bed and dart towards the bathroom. My knees smart on the hard tile as I drop to the floor and vomit into the toilet bowl. My stomach is trying to turn itself inside out and my head is spinning.
When what little was in my stomach has been rather unceremoniously evacuated from inside my body, I manage to suck in a breath. Once I’m certain I’m done for the moment, I grab a handful of toilet paper and wipe my mouth before flushing the toilet.
I gingerly ease my body into a sitting position against the wall. Resting my elbows on my drawn-up knees, I cradle my aching head.
This dream is the clearest of all of them, leaving a reel of gruesome images cycling through my mind.
Typical. The rest of them probably had the most useful information, but the one of a demon tearing a man to shreds—literally—is the one on high-def repeat in my poor abused brain.
Fuck. It had looked like an abattoir, blood and entrails splattered all over the walls and ceiling. There wasn’t an inch of that parlour that wasn’t dripping with the stuff by the time Cordelia and her demon were done.
I’ll never be able to forget the noise the bishop’s head made when the demon crushed it. It was a strange pop and then a revolting squishing noise followed by absolute deathly silence.
The silence had almost been worse than the man’s screams of agony.
Memories of how Bishop Fairchild’s insides had ended up on the outside set my stomach roiling once more, and I’m back to hanging over the toilet and gagging, but nothing’s left to come out. Dry, painful heaves tug at my ribs.
When they finally stop, I push myself to my feet and peel my pyjamas off.
Setting the water to the right temperature, I step under the showerhead to let the spray beat down on my pounding skull.
Once the sweat is rinsed from my clammy body and my headache has dulled down to a pulse, I finally allow my mind to drift.
I’d gone to bed last night with Sam on my mind and had drifted off to sleep with his kisses replaying over and over.
Since I was so abruptly awoken this morning by those gruesome memories of blood and vivisection, I’d not had time to go back to dwelling on our moment.
Even now, I’d rather not think about it, not because I don’t want to but because I don’t want those thoughts tainted by the revulsion left over from the dream.
I suppose I could call them nightmares now, but even this one hadn’t induced a sense of fear. It was much worse. I’d felt…satisfaction.
A feeling that wasn’t mine.
If I had to guess, I’d say that, with my empathic ability, it must have been Cordelia’s emotions I was feeling.
But it shouldn’t be possible. She lived and most likely died in the mid-eighteen hundreds.
I don’t even know how I’m seeing her life, and I sure as hell can’t even begin to fathom how I can be experiencing her emotions.
The water starts to run cold, so I shut it off. Stepping out of the shower, I quickly dry off and brush my teeth. By the time I’m back in my room and dressed, I feel a little more human again, but I still head into the kitchen to make a ginger tea to settle my stomach.
It’s raining again but not like before. The heaviness in the air is gone, as is the torrential downpour. Now it’s just a light, misty summer rain, and when I open the window to let in a little air, I’m greeted by the pleasant and heady scent of petrichor.
Taking a small sip of my tea, I glance out the window and into the street, watching absently as a car pulls up and parks in front of my building.
I don’t give it much thought until I see a familiar figure step out. Then my heartbeat picks up, and before I realise what I’m doing, I set my mug on the counter and head downstairs to the door, opening it to Sam raising his fist.
The pleased, excited feeling that had been dancing in my stomach only a moment ago now sinks like a brick.
His smile is nowhere to be seen, and his posture is almost rigid.
It’s not like him at all. Gone is the teasing man I’m getting used to seeing and in his place is someone who looks like he’s about to do something he doesn’t want to.
Does he regret our kiss yesterday? Oh my god, was it not good?
I have no other frame of reference, so I’d considered it to be pretty fucking spectacular. I never thought I’d actually want to voluntarily feel someone’s emotions, but thinking he doesn’t want me makes the nausea return full force.
Having to rely on my other senses for once, I make myself look closer and see reddened eyes and a tightness to his jaw.
“What’s wrong?” I ask with a frown.
He stares at me for a moment, almost as if bracing himself for whatever it is he’s come to say.
“It’s raining,” I say to fill the awkward silence. “Do you want to come inside?”
“I can’t,” he finally says. “I haven’t got long. I’ve got to be on the road soon.”
“On the road?” I parrot in confusion, my eyes flicking to the car he climbed out of, one that is clearly not his.
He follows my gaze and answers my unspoken question. “I hired it this morning. I’ve a long drive ahead of me.”
“Where are you going?”
“Back ho–” He breaks off and swallows. “Back to Leeds. I’ve a family emergency and I have to–”
“Leave,” I finish for him.
“Yeah,” he says, and I don’t have to feel his emotions to see his misery. “I just…I didn’t want you to feel like I’d just disappeared after, you know, last night.”
“Sam.”
“Anyway,” he hurries on, “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, and I don’t want you to think that kiss meant nothing because–”
“Sam,” I say again softly. I reach for him, but he steps back and shakes his head.
“I have to go, but I just wanted you to know.”
He heads back towards his car. He could’ve called or messaged, we both know that. The fact that he came here means something.
“Sam!” I call out, and hurry after him. He stops and turns to me as I reach him. “Is this the first time you’ve been back since the attack?”
He draws in a slow breath, and I can see the pain in his eyes before he nods.
“Do you want me to go with you?” I blurt out before my brain has a chance to catch up to my mouth.
It’s crazy. I have a business to run and can’t just go gallivanting off to Yorkshire after just one kiss with a guy I barely know.
Okay, several steamy kisses, and a lot of hot fantasies about him that have not translated into anything physical…
yet. But I just know that look doesn’t sit right on his gorgeous face.
I don’t want him to hurt—it makes something hot and uncomfortable squirm inside me.
Whatever it is that’s upsetting him, I don’t want him to have to face it alone.
Before I can open my mouth to say anything else, he reaches out in one smooth move, his hands sliding along my jaw and drawing me into him. The next thing I know, we’re kissing in the rain. Raindrops catch in my eyelashes as I close my eyes and just absorb every feeling.
I could kiss this man forever, but all too soon, he pulls back and presses his forehead to mine, his warm palms still cupping my face.
“Prickles, you don’t know how much I want to say yes, but not this time. This—my family problem—I need to deal with it alone.”
I swallow slowly and nod. “You could call me,” I whisper. “If you need someone to talk to.”
“I’d like that,” he mutters, and gives me a small smile. It’s nothing like the wide ones I’m used to—that sexy dimple that usually appears is nowhere in sight—but it’s a start, and it makes me feel marginally better.
This time when he presses his lips to mine, it’s to give me a soft, innocent kiss that lingers. I don’t know what it means, but it feels different from the others.
“I’ll see you soon,” he whispers.
I watch in silence as he climbs in the car and pulls away, and I keep watching until he disappears from view, the only thought in my head–
I hope so.
It’s early afternoon by the time I reach Leeds. I wish I could say it was comforting to drive the familiar roads and streets, but I’d be lying.
Every memory I have of home is tainted by what happened. I can’t think of Leeds without being reminded of the friends and colleagues who’d turned their backs on me, thinking I somehow deserved what happened to me just because of who I am, of what I am…
Well, fuck them.
As much as it had hurt, I refuse to be ashamed. It’s been just over a year, and everything is still too fresh. I hope one day I’ll be able to return to my home city and remember all the good things, but I’m nowhere near ready yet.
My thoughts turn back to Harrison and the sweet way he’d offered to come with me, then the adorable confusion on his face when he realised he wasn’t quite sure just what he’d volunteered for.
He has no idea how badly I had wanted to take him up on his offer. I know Danny would have made the same one, but he’s building a life in London with Tristan. I’ve never seen my friend so happy and content, and the last thing I want is for him to have a front row seat to the shitshow of my life.
The only bright spot has been a beautiful, prickly man with hair like the sunrise.
When I kissed him last night, it was unexpected—or maybe not. If I’m being honest, I’d wanted my mouth on his since the first moment I laid eyes on him.
But the way I’d felt had taken me by surprise. It shook me right down to my core. It was like–
Coming home.
In a way that I’ve never felt before.
I drive down a familiar street and pull up to a small two-bed mid-terrace.
The house I grew up in.
I’m just climbing out of the car when Trevor emerges from the house next door and ambles to greet me, his round face breaking into a sweet smile. His grey hair is neatly parted and he’s wearing his favourite sweatshirt, which bears the name of the local hiking club he’s belonged to for years.