Chapter 16 #3
Alice shook her head, something sad crossing her features as she reached for me. “Natalia gets them sometimes, too, so I knew what to do. What helps.” She squeezed my arm gently. “She’s lucky to have you watching over her, even if she won’t admit it.”
Then she was gone, disappearing down the hallway with quick steps, leaving me alone with the knowledge that Violet suffered through horrors even in sleep.
I entered the dorm room quietly, easing the door closed behind me with barely a click.
Sure enough, Violet lay in her bed, dressed in a thin white T-shirt and sleep shorts that did almost nothing to preserve modesty.
Her breath was steady, the deep rhythm of genuine sleep, but her brow was pinched—a small crease between her eyes that spoke of discomfort even in unconsciousness.
I sat on the floor beside her bed, my back against the wall, and simply waited.
Watching her had become something of a habit over the past few days. Not in a way I could justify or explain, just a bone-deep need to confirm she was safe, breathing, still here.
Thirty minutes passed in quiet observation.
I listened to her heartbeat—steady at first, the reliable rhythm I’d memorized without meaning to.
I watched the rise and fall of her chest, the way her hair spread across the pillow, the vulnerability of sleep softening features that were always so guarded when awake.
Then she began to toss.
Quick, jerky movements that made me tense. Her head thrashed against the pillow, expression pained, her hands clenching the sheets, her legs kicking out. I was afraid she would hurt herself—slam her hand against the wall, fall out of the narrow bed, wake disoriented and panicked.
My hand reached out instinctively, settling against her forehead. Her skin was warm but not feverish, slightly damp with perspiration.
“No. No. Stop.” The words came out slurred, desperate, her voice younger somehow. Smaller.
Her heartbeat jumped—from forty beats per minute to nearly a hundred in seconds, erratic and panicked as if fear itself coiled in her dreams and wrapped around her heart.
I debated waking her, shaking her shoulder until consciousness returned and banished whatever horror played behind her closed eyes. But Alice’s method had worked, she’d said. Soothing rather than waking.
“Shh, you are safe, Violet.” The words felt oddly familiar on my tongue, and I realized why—I’d said them before, in my previous life, to children who’d lived in the brothels where I’d sometimes worked security.
Children born into that world, who’d never known safety, who’d cried from nightmares I couldn’t even imagine. “Everything is alright.”
Her chest heaved with a sharp intake of breath, and my eyes drifted lower before I could stop them.
No bra beneath that thin tank top. Her nipples were taut, the barbells of her piercings visible through white fabric. I could see the slight swell of her breasts, the curve of her waist, the lean muscle of her stomach.
I forced my gaze away, guilt slamming into me.
She is vulnerable and terrified, and you are noticing her body like some creep.
But my eyes found another detail I’d somehow missed before—a tattoo on her left thigh, partially visible beneath the hem of her shorts. Delicate line work, though I couldn’t make out the full design from this angle but it was fresh like the ink on her arm.
When had she gotten that done? How had I not noticed?
Because you are not supposed to be staring at her thighs, you bastard.
“Stop, please.” She whimpered, and the sound drove a spike through my chest.
I kept my strokes gentle, my fingers carding through her hair with the same rhythm I’d use to calm a spooked horse. “Shh. It is okay, Violet.”
My knuckles ventured farther, stroking down her cheek with feather-light pressure, then lower to the column of her throat. I could feel her pulse beneath my fingertips—still too fast, still panicked, but beginning to slow.
“Rest. No one will hurt you while I am here.”
It seemed to be enough. . . she made a small, happy noise and nuzzled against my touch, turning her face towards my hand like a cat seeking warmth.
My cock jerked in immediate response, and I cursed my body’s betrayal.
She is asleep. She is having a nightmare. This is not the time.
“Safe. You are safe,” I repeated, keeping my voice low and soothing despite the guilt churning in my gut.
She let out a sigh—long and releasing, as if exhaling the nightmare itself. Her heartbeat steadied, dropping back to normal rhythm. Her breathing deepened, her body relaxing by degrees until the tension bled out of her muscles entirely.
Despite our complicated relationship, despite her constant protests against my presence and my frustration with her reckless choices, it pained me to see her this way. What had her fearing so much?
I stayed for hours, unable to leave her side. Every time I considered slipping out, her breath would hitch, or her face would tighten, and I’d freeze. Afraid that moving would trigger another nightmare, that my absence would leave her vulnerable to horrors I couldn’t fight.
It was past midnight when I finally forced myself to stand, my body stiff from sitting on the hard floor. I took one last look at Violet—peaceful now, her expression soft, her breathing deep and even. Then I left, closing the door with a quiet click as the sound of rolling thunder promised rain.
The walk back to my apartment felt longer than usual, my mind circling through everything I’d learned. Her nightmares. Her past lovers that made possessive rage burn through me. The way she’d looked at me during our fight—angry and flushed and so fucking beautiful it had stolen my breath.
I am in trouble. Deep, irrevocable trouble.
And I didn’t know how to stop falling.