31. You’re insane. No, I’m inspired
You’re insane. No, I’m inspired
“The blindfold is unnecessary,” I tell Oliver when I catch sight of the black fabric in his hand.
“It’s required.” He lays it over my eyes, tying it snugly on the side. “Head back.”
The heater hums to life as I settle in the passenger seat of his car. “Oliver, you’re kinda scaring me.”
“Just kind of? I was hoping for full terror.” His voice is amused.
“You’re not funny.”
“I think I am.” The turn signal ticks.
“Why am I blindfolded right now?” I press.
“Isn’t that obvious?” I can picture him. Messy hair pushed back out of his eyes, his mouth quirked. “We can talk if it helps.”
“Talk,” I echo. “You don’t like talking.”
“True. But I like it when you talk.”
“Fine. Let’s talk.” I angle toward him even though there’s nothing to see. I rest my head in my hand on the center console. “Where are we going?”
“Next.”
“What do you do in your free time?”
“Watch you.”
“Before me? What did you do then?” I challenge.
“What every other person our age does. School, work out, video games, party, fucking.”
“Cute hobbies,” I manage, wrinkling my nose because, seriously.
His palm settles on my knee, thumb sliding over my leggings in a slow back-and-forth. “If I’d met you at thirteen, we would’ve started then. There would’ve been no one else.”
I laugh. “Thirteen? Why? Was that your first sexual experience?”
“Yes.” Yep, skipping over that.
“We were so different.”
I feel him watching me even though I can’t see him. “It would have looked different because you were different. I would have sat in the back row and studied every movement. I would have changed my route to pass you between classes.”
“You’re insane.” I laugh.
“For you, I would’ve learned to live inside the light without breaking it.”
“How poetic.”
“I try.”
“What college did you go to before Willow Hill?”
The car rolls to a stop. He kills the engine—the sudden quiet rings in my ears. “We're here; that question will have to wait.” I should have started with that.
Callan and even Vee are tight-lipped about it, no doubt waiting for Oliver to finally open up to me.
Warm breath ghosts across my cheek, his hoodie brushing against my shoulder. “Ground rules,” he murmurs quietly. “If you need light, say ‘light.’ If you want to go home, you tell me, and we leave.” A kiss lands hard on my lips. “Ready, Dollface?”
“No. Considering I don’t know what’s going on. What do you mean by light?” What the hell is he talking about?
His door opens, then shuts. For a few blissful seconds, I relish in the quiet, then Oliver is helping me out of the car with his hands on my hips.
“Oliver.” His fingers unknot the cloth. When it falls away, cold air hits my eyelids. I blink a few times, adjusting to my surroundings: trees, wet dirt, woods, the smell of pine.
The forest.
Darkness.
My chest tightens, but I fight it, breathing in the clean air and letting it out slowly.
The heat behind me is suddenly gone. I spin.
Oliver is a few paces away, backing up even further.
His expression is one I recognize, though I haven’t seen it in weeks: cold, detached, stripped of warmth. All aimed at me.
“What are you doing?” It’s my voice, but it doesn’t sound like me. I sound scared. Weak. Terrified. I fucking hate it. I ball my fists at my sides.
His hands slide into his hoodie pockets. Dressed head to toe in black, the only thing that gives him away is his hair. “You’re going to run.”
“Run? Is this a joke?” It feels like stepping into my nightmare on purpose.
“The forest owns you. It’s time you took it back. I’m going to count to thirty. You run. Hide. Don’t let me catch you.”
“And if you do?”
His mouth tilts into a cruel smile. “Let’s hope you don’t. Fight me. Get free. Use every ounce of what you keep locked down.”
“This is insane. Like, actually fucking insane.” I look around, baffled. He thinks this will help. If anything, this will make it worse and trigger a nightmare. “I was having a good day,” I whine.
“You’ll have an even better night. Now run.” He starts to count. “Thirty. Twenty-nine.”
His eyes never leave mine. This feels too close to my nightmares. But standing still and letting them win feels worse. When he takes a single step toward me, I finally turn and sprint. He wants me to run. So I run. He thinks this can help. Who am I to tell him it won’t when I’m not sure myself?
The ground is soft and uneven beneath my boots. The trees feel too close. My thighs burn. I duck under a low branch and press my palm to a trunk until the sting in my lungs settles. In through my nose, slowly releasing it.
You're fine, Lyra.
You’re not alone.
His counting fades, and I know my time is up. The nightmare is taking hold. I feel it seeping in. A twig snaps to my right, and I go utterly still.
“Lyra,” Oliver’s voice rings out. “Am I going to find you already? I wanted a chase.”
I wait until the quiet stretches, then I move. I’m so focused on where to place my feet that I miss the figure next to me. Suddenly, I’m pushed down, cheek against the dirt.
Fingers in my hair pull my head off the ground. “Got you,” someone says in my ear. “Now fight.”
Terror flashes.
Dirt in my mouth.
Faceless weight.
Never getting out.
Voices.
“No!” I thrash. “Help! No.” I buck, twist, hook his leg around, and fight with everything in me.
Running.
Clawing.
Glass.
Laughter.
My elbow drives into his stomach, and I scramble up. Someone catches my wrist and turns me with ridiculous ease, pinning me again, weight solid over my hips.
“I love your fight, own it.” His voice cuts through the haze. Not helpless. Not trapped.
I breathe, smelling him, and feel the press of his hands on my skin. The weight on top of me.
Oliver.
“Open your eyes, baby.” I blink until the panic drains.
“There you go, Dollface.” He presses my palm to his chest, right over his heart. “Feel that?” I don’t know how long I lie under him. Hand to his chest, our breaths matched as I calm down from the rollercoaster of emotions.
My body starts to shake from the mix of the night air and adrenaline. He shifts back and drags me with him until I end up on his lap. One arm banded around my back, the other cradles my nape. He holds me like he has no intention of letting go.
“You did so good.”
I bury my face in his neck. “I did it.” It comes out broken, silent tears dripping onto his skin.
“You did.” He tips my chin and kisses me once. “Don’t let fear own you.”
I speak into his hoodie after I've calmed myself enough to speak. “I don’t ever want to do this again.”
“You won't have to; you don’t have to avoid it now. The nightmares may not vanish. This changes the picture. I’m the only thing allowed to chase you.”
I swipe my face. His mouth softens slightly. “There’s dirt on my cheek, huh?”
His thumb brushes the dirt away. “Still beautiful.”
“I thought if you caught me, you would punish me.”
“Don’t tempt me.” He stands and brings me up with him, hands steady at my waist. “Come on.” He scoops me up, my legs wrapping around his narrow hips, as he starts walking. “Let’s get you back to the dorm. You're freezing, and we need to sleep.”
Oliver walks me up to the showers, kicking everyone out. Thankfully, there were only two girls in there, and fully clothed. Once clean and back in my room, we snuggle under my heated blanket, which James got me for Christmas last year.
I’m tired emotionally, physically, and everything in between. His arm curls around my waist, the other hand tracing gentle circles along my back as I click on our show.
“You know you can’t be with me every night.”
“Why can’t I?”
“What if we break up?”
He chuckles slightly. “That’s not happening.”
“Okay, but what if I take a vacation with Roxy and Vee and you aren’t there…”
“I’ll go.”
“Oliver, that’s not realistic.”
“You're right, it's not for most. For us it is.” He places my head back down onto his chest, his hand moving up and down in a rhythm that lulls me toward sleep, and the forest stays where it should be.