Chapter 55 #2
“You’re acting just like James. You’re no different from him,” I spit, the words venomous darts.
“Trying to control me. To manage me.” I scoff, swiping the back of my hand, with my shoe still gripped in it, across my forehead.
“Is that what this is, Matt? You gave me that check, so… what? A transfer of ownership from him to you?”
The fury, the pain, the fear, all vanish from his face, replaced by a look of pure devastation.
He glares at me, his wide eyes glazing over with a wounded moisture.
His chest rises and falls with a tortured breath.
He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. He just slowly shakes his head, dazed.
Then, something in him snaps.
He storms past me so quickly I stumble backward. I hear his heavy footsteps pounding up the stairs, each one a hammer blow echoing throughout the house.
His bedroom door slams shut with so much force the sound vibrates through the floorboards.
I flinch, a violent twitch, the sound rattling my bones, leaving a ringing silence.
I stand frozen in the aftershock. My fingers go numb.
The shoes I was clutching slip from my grasp, hitting the plush rug with a dull thud.
I stare at them. Then I look around this living room that was, just this weekend, filled with love and laughter.
My body moves on autopilot, my feet carrying me toward the staircase.
Each step up takes a monumental effort.
I don’t even glance at his closed door.
I can’t.
Inside the guest room, I mechanically strip off my clothes, folding the bloodied silk blouse and trousers with robotic movements. I pull on my soft pajamas and slip under the covers. I stare up at the ceiling in the darkness, listening to the deep silence of the house.
He is just across the hall.
A few feet of air.
But now, an impassable chasm of hurt.
I am in Harold Bancroft’s imposing office. He is sitting behind his massive desk, his expression one of deep disappointment.
“Look at the mess you’ve made.” His words echo in the cavernous space as he points an accusatory finger at me.
I look down at my hands. They are covered in slick, wet crimson.
When I look back up in panic, I’m in the doorway of James’s apartment. The stench of whiskey and blood assaults my senses. The floor is a minefield of shattered glass that glitters in the dim light. In the center of the room, a body lies face down in a dark, pooling stain.
My bare feet crunch over broken glass as I walk to the body. I kneel in the sticky wetness and, with a strength I don’t possess, I roll him over.
I forget how to breathe.
It’s Matthew.
His face is deathly pale, his eyes closed. A dark red stain blooms across the front of his white T-shirt, right over his heart.
I scream his name in soul-shattering terror. A guttural sound that tears me from my nightmare’s grip.
I bolt upright in bed, drenched in a cold sweat, my heart in my throat.
The heart-stopping image of Matthew bleeding out is burned behind my eyelids.
I’m gasping for air, tangled in the sheets, my own scream still echoing when the door to my room is thrown open.
I scramble back against the headboard as a large figure fills the doorway.
My heart tries to claw its way out of my throat.
The figure rushes towards me, a dark shape moving with terrifying speed.
A panicked whimper escapes me. I press myself deeper into the headboard, trying to disappear.
“Amy!” The voice is a panicked rasp.
Matthew?
But how?
My mind is a tangled mess of what’s real and what isn’t.
The dark figure is at my bedside. “Amy, hey, it’s me,” he says desperately. “It’s me. You’re okay.”
My eyes are wide with terror, unable to separate the man in front of me from the bleeding man in my dream.
There’s a soft click.
The bedside lamp floods the space with light.
It’s him.
It’s Matthew.
His hair is a wild mess, his face is etched with deep concern. His beautiful green eyes are wide with a fear that is entirely for me.
He’s not dead.
He’s here.
He cups my face, his hands warm against my cold, clammy skin. His thumbs stroke my cheekbones in a soothing rhythm.
“Focus on me, love,” he murmurs, his gaze holding mine. “It was just a nightmare. It wasn’t real.”
My trembling hands come up to frame his face, my thumbs pressing into his jawline, needing to feel the solid proof of him.
He’s real.
He’s alive.
“Matt, you’re alive.” My voice is broken and pleading. “Is this real? Are you really here?” My fingers desperately trace the contours of his face.
A look of confusion mixed with dawning understanding washes over him.
“Oh God, Amy,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.
“Yes, it’s me. I’m okay. I’m right here.
” He pulls me from the headboard and into his arms, crushing me against the solid, living warmth of his bare chest. “You’re safe, love,” he murmurs into my hair, his arms forming a protective cage. “I’ve got you.”
I cling to him, breathing him in. I try desperately to erase the image of his blood with the undeniable proof of his steady heartbeat against my ear.
He just holds me, his hand stroking my hair in a steady rhythm until the last of my tremors subside.
I feel his embrace loosen slightly, a reluctant shift as if to pull away. The thought of him leaving, of being left alone with the darkness, sends a fresh panic through me.
My arms tighten around him. “Don’t go,” I whisper against his chest.
He freezes.
I pull my head back just enough to look up at him, my eyes pleading. “Please,” I whisper. “Can you just… stay? At least until I fall asleep?”
His expression is one of such tenderness it makes my heart clench.
“Of course, love.” He doesn’t hesitate.
He presses a lingering kiss to my forehead before guiding me back down onto the pillows.
He pulls the duvet up to my chin, then moves around the bed and slips under the covers behind me.
He lies there for a moment, letting me feel the warmth and weight of his presence in the darkness.
Then, his arm snakes around my waist. He gently pulls me back against his chest until my back is flush against the solid wall of his body.
He tucks my head under his chin, his other hand coming to rest protectively on my arm.
Wrapped in his arms, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, I feel the last of the day’s horror release its grip.
I am safe.
I am not alone.