11. Mystery Man
Chapter eleven
Mystery Man
Sitting in the chair in the dark corner of her room, shadows swallow me whole, allowing me to watch Annalise sleep without the fear of her seeing me if she were to wake.
The window behind me is cracked just enough to let the night air drift in, stirring the curtains in slow, rhythmic waves.
The cool, crisp breeze brushes over her face, lifting strands of her hair, but still—she doesn’t wake.
The first time I stayed, it was an accident; that’s what I told myself, anyway.
Now it’s been weeks, and I know better.
I can’t bear to be anywhere else knowing her screaming will start soon. Soon, but not yet.
For a little bit longer, she looks peaceful. Unbothered. Calm in a way that gives no hint at how desperately she’ll soon be fighting for her life against demons she can’t escape.
I check the clock; only a few more minutes.
My jaw tightens, and I shift my weight, careful to avoid the floorboard below the chair that would betray me. Luckily, she was in a coma when I learned each misstep the hard way. Funny, the things you quickly memorize when you keep showing up somewhere you shouldn’t be.
I drag a hand down my face—this is insane.
Breaking into her room, night after night.
Sitting in this chair, and watching her sleep like I’m her…
what? Guard? Stalker? Both, probably. If she woke up and found me, there wouldn’t be a scenario where this didn’t end horribly for me.
And yet—I can’t stay away. I’m willing to risk everything so she has someone by her side as she goes into battle.
The rustling of her blankets snaps my attention back to her.
Her movements start small: the curling of her fingers in her sheets, the scrunching of her face, and the subtle shake of her head that you’d miss if you weren’t as enthralled with her as I am.
“You’re not alone,” I murmur under my breath, though she’s too deep in sleep to hear me. “You do not run. You do not break.”
She never does.
Her breaths turn shallow, and her legs begin to thrash—quickly wrapping up in the sheets and increasing her panic. Her head moves violently against the pillow, and her whimpers and strangled screams for help tear at my soul. I push away from the chair, slamming it into the wall behind me.
It was a stupid mistake—one she very well could have heard…and then I’d really be fucked—but I barely consider the ramifications as I take the three long, silent steps to kneel by her bedside.
“Annalise—”
I haven't touched her, not yet. I’ve learned the hard way how horribly that ends for both of us.
Her lips part, and a broken wail catches painfully in her throat. Her whole body tenses, and then—
It hits.
Her breath comes in shallow and fast, her skin flushes as beads of sweat form across her nose and forehead, and her arms flail in uncoordinated strikes against her ghost attackers. She’s caught somewhere between her memories and her nightmares. Somewhere I can’t follow.
I make myself watch as she exhausts herself, fighting with everything she has—until her fist strikes her temple.
I reach for her then, gentle and controlled, one hand supporting her head, the other catching her arms before she can hurt herself further.
“You’re okay. You’re not there. You’re with me—and I won’t let anyone hurt you. ”
Her anger turns toward me. It always does.
For a second, her will to survive lends her an unnatural strength, and her legs are somehow closer to connecting with the back of my head than should be possible. Still, I hold on to her, whispering the same words I’ve said almost every night since her attack.
“Tha thu sàbhailte. Tha mi an seo. Tha thu agam.”
Promises of safety? Who am I kidding?
If Annalise knew I was here—if she ever saw me standing over her night after night—she wouldn’t feel like I was keeping her safe.
No—she’d probably be spitting fire right alongside her dragon.
The thought should make me step back, but I don’t.
Slowly, the fight drains out of her. The tension bleeds from her limbs in a rush, and her breaths hitch as exhaustion consumes her.
Her eyes don’t open, but the worst of her night terror has passed, which means I don’t have an excuse to stay here any longer.
I loosen my grip, watching for any sign that she might be becoming lucid. Carefully, I ease her back onto the mattress, untangling the blankets from where they’re twisted around her legs.
“There you go,” I whisper. “Now try to get some rest.”
As if on command, her breathing evens out, her body relaxing as though nothing ever happened.
As though this doesn’t happen almost every night.
I stay by her side longer than I should, watching the last traces of fear fade from her face. Admiring the way her face glistens in the slivers of moonlight reflecting off her tear-soaked cheeks.
For the briefest of moments, I imagine what it would be like if she woke up right now and saw me. Asked me why.
I don’t have a good answer.
Because I couldn’t stay away isn’t a good answer. Because I know exactly when the nightmares come isn’t better. Because somehow, somewhere along the way, this became the only place I feel like I’m doing something that matters. Because she matters.
Yeah. None of that would sound sane out loud.
I exhale slowly and turn back toward the chair I occupied only thirty minutes ago. There can’t be a single trace that I was here.
Once the chair is back in the correct spot, I leave her room the same way I came in—quiet, careful, invisible under the last hour of darkness.
My gaze drifts back to her one last time.
“See you tomorrow, Seiri.”