41-Zach
I’m exhausted.
The carpet swallows my footsteps as I head toward my room, gripping the new keycard. My feet hurt from the heels, and I’m high from that weed pen Whitney passed around. Everything slows as I reach my door, like I’m moving through molasses. I slide the keycard into the lock.
Click.
A little city glow leaks through the curtains. I toe off my heels, letting them thud onto the carpet.
The mattress swallows me as I wriggle onto it. My thoughts slip away like sand in a receding tide. A couple of minutes later, I’m fading. The mattress dips beside me.
My vision tunnels, sound warping like I’m underwater. I claw at anything I can reach, slicing my way through hairy skin.
“Christ,” a deep voice barks.
The door slams open, followed by heavy footsteps.
I shout out, but it dies on my lips as a hand curls around my neck in a vice grip.
I want to fight, but I don’t want to die.
The intruder wiggles away from me as I lift my shaking arms up.
I’ve heard about things like this; men breaking their way into hotel rooms known to be occupied by single women. The lights snap on.
It’s okay, just let them do whatever—
“Zach!” Kit shouts, voice cracking as he crawls across the mattress.
The chokehold releases, and Yensil stares at me, tawny face a ghostly pale. I curl into the pillow, shaking so hard the sheets tremble. My lungs won’t work, my sight tunneling from lack of air.
I might be dead.
Clammy palms cradle my face. Kit’s mouth moves, but I can’t hear. The shape of him is the first thing that cuts through the static. Hands gripping my shoulders, he shakes me with a sudden jolt.
“Zachary!”
I gulp in a prickling breath, a gasp tearing from my lungs. Kit’s face blurs.
“I’m so sorry,” Yensil booms, rough and shaken. “I thought you were an intruder. How in the hell did you get into Kit’s room?”
“This, this is my room,” I stammer, trying to think. “Fifteen-twent—” I slap a hand over my mouth. My lungs tighten like an iron fist. “I forgot about the room switch.”
“It’s okay, darling.” Kit grips my face, his ocean eyes centering me. “Just breathe.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” the words tumble out of me in a frantic loop. I fold into him, clutching at his hoodie.
Kit wraps his arms around me, his voice a low murmur against my hair, “I’ve got you.”
I cling to him, pressing my forehead to his collarbone.
His arms come around me, steady and sure, as I try to outrun the cold terror still ricocheting through me.
Time feels wrong; stretched thin in some places, collapsing in others.
My thoughts won’t line up. My body won’t listen. Everything’s shaking.
Kit is solid.
He smells like winter pines in quiet forests, ceaseless and grounded. Tobacco clings to him, threaded with a warm, nutty musk that reminds me of backyard bonfires. I breathe him in like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to the present.
I lose myself in his scent and the quiet strength in the way he holds me.
It makes no sense. He shouldn’t be the one that feels like shelter.
I don’t understand why he, of all people, is who my body trusts without permission.
Out of everyone who’s ever touched, hurt, or held me, he makes my shattered pieces feel like they’re worth picking up. I hold on.
Because right now, he’s the one thing in the world that isn’t spinning.
“May I draw you a bath?” he asks, lips brushing the top of my head as he absently finger-combs my hair. “Everyone’s left for some time now.”
I nod against him, feeling his steady heart. He moves gently, keeping one hand on my back as he slides out from beneath me. The faucet turns on, water rushing into the tub a moment later. My hands shake, eyes stinging with unshed tears. Something brushes my arm and I jerk like I’ve been shocked.
“I’m sorry,” Kit says, hands up, and voice soft. “Didn’t mean to startle you. The bath is ready, if you still want it.”
Tears spill over as I nod. My body moves on instinct.
I reach out, and he doesn’t hesitate to scoop me in his arms, carrying me toward the bathroom.
Steam swirls around the edges of the giant mirror to my left, reflecting the shallow shower-tub.
Setting me down carefully, he swipes my hair over my shoulder, his fingers finding the zipper at the back of my dress.
“May I?”
I nod, and the tiny teeth part, goosebumps trailing each inch of exposed skin. The fabric slips from my shoulders and pools at my feet. He inhales sharply, clearing his throat as I face him. Even as Kit kneels to help me step out of it, he looks away, his movements gentle and respectful.
“I’ll give you some privacy,” he says, clearing his throat as he turns.
“No,” I declare, gripping his wrist, “I-I don’t want to be alone.”
“Okay. Should I…” Kit faces me, eyes glancing down, then back up to me.
“Yes.”
His throat bobs as he kneels before me again. The lace underwear slides down my thighs, and even though I’m stark naked, I don’t feel exposed. He takes my hand and guides me into the tub.
The warm water wraps around me like a cocoon, loosening my tight muscles.
Curling my knees to my chest, I stare at the granite-tiled wall around the rectangular mirror instead of catching my haggard reflection.
Kit kneels beside the tub and rolls his sleeves up, dipping a fluffy white washcloth into the water before running it over my shoulders.
“I must look like a raccoon,” I mutter, trying to wipe the mascara that’s no doubt dripped down my cheeks.
“Nah,” Kit says, taking a corner of the washcloth gently to my face. “With the lipstick you’re more like a panda bear that’s mangled its cub.”
“That’s a horrible image!” I giggle, the motion weightless and relieving. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”
“Eh.” He shrugs, dimples deep but lips pressed as he scans my face. “Worth it to see that smile.”
Kit dips the washcloth into the tub again, wincing as his forearm submerges. Three long scratches welt his pale, freckled skin, thin streaks of blood in their center.
“Holy shit.” My chin quivers as I smooth my palm over the wounds, trying to erase the damage I’ve done. Hurting someone who’s helping me is my worst nightmare. “Kit, I’m so sorry. I’m—”
“Hey, hey,” he assures soothingly, “I’m okay. It’s just a scratch.”
“But I—”
“Enough,” Kit demands, his tone clipped, irises blazing like hot blue flames. I dip my chin between my knees, and he wipes my cheek with the cotton. “I’m the one who’s sorry,” he whispers as he washes my arms. “This is all my fault.”
My head jerks up so fast I nearly uppercut him with it.
“How is this your fault? I’m the one who mixed up the rooms. I’m not even drunk—”
But as I really look at him, it’s like a stab to my heart. Wet lashes frame bloodshot sclera, and the tip of his sharp nose is tinged pink. Even devastated, he’s still utterly beautiful. Angelic. He cups my cheek with ringless fingers.
“You could’ve—” He trembles against me, his rough intake pressing his chest into my shoulder. “If anything had happened it would’ve been my fault. The bloody room switch, the security, all of it. All this dodgy shit’s ’cause of me.”
“None of this is your fault.” I lean into his palm, my thumb stroking the fresh scratches on his forearm. “Your safety is important.”
He chuckles, but it holds no humor or warmth as he drops his hand, fisting it on the edge of the tub that separates us. “More important than someone’s life?”
The sudden darkness in his voice knocks the air from my lungs.
“What about your life?” I counter, anger simmering through the shock.
“I attacked you. Don’t take responsibility for my stupidity, or anyone else’s mental health issues.
You got plenty of your own shit to deal with.
I know about what happened; that person breaking into your house.
She could’ve killed you, just shot you as you walked through the damn door.
It makes sense that your security is so tight. ”
“I’ve been living on borrowed time for a while.
” The words land heavy, like he’s rehearsed them in silence.
His round eyes pool with tears, chin quivering so fervently his teeth chatter.
“Every day since the accident is one I shouldn’t have.
My music’s out there, and it’ll stay long after I’m gone.
That’s all I’ve ever wanted; something everlasting in a world that keeps changing. ”
“Don’t talk like that.” I grab his fist and raise it to my face to anchor him, terrified he’ll drift away, even in still water. “You have so much left in you. This is just the beginning.”
“Maybe that’s the problem.” He uncurls his fingers and weaves them through mine. “I’m knackered already.”
Heavy silence settles between us, as fragile as stage glass. My stomach lurches into my ribs, lungs frozen in a state of over-expansion. I shake my head, not fathoming Kit simply gone.
“Is that why you hate me?” I whisper, tears pounding their way out. “Because of that video?”
I made a video stitching together concert clips and pairing them with tracks from their last album.
It went viral overnight, and their streams exploded.
Soon, thousands of videos of them went viral, and Somnium officially hit mainstream media.
I’ve always been so proud that I helped people find their music.
I never once thought about repercussions.
Guilt coils tight in my ribs, familiar and unwelcome.
“That changed my life. All of our lives.” Kit’s lips twitch in a pathetic attempt at a smirk, scooping a tear from my chin.
He brushes a wet curl from my face. “You puzzle me. You absolutely infuriate me sometimes. You’ve enriched my life in ways I can’t repay.
I’m not one for fate, but it’s hard to ignore how our threads keep crossing. ”
“You can’t fall for me,” I whisper, my toes cracking as I curl them in the cooling water. “No matter how connected we are or knotted we get. Our jobs, the fans—you live halfway across the planet for Chip’s sake.”