Chapter 22 #3
Someone might as well have plunged a fucking knife right into my chest. Clenching my jaw, I scooped her up and pulled her close, hugging her tightly against my chest. Her breathing was erratic and abnormal while she sobbed and shook in my arms.
“Breathe, Ghost,” I urged her. I pulled back so that I could look into her tear-filled eyes. “Breathe, Kendyll.”
I grabbed her hand and placed it on my chest so that she could feel me take a deep breath before letting it out slowly.
I repeated the breathing exercise while pressing her palm harder against my chest. Through her hiccuping sobs, she worked to mirror my inhales and exhales.
Finally, she regained control of her breathing, expelling my worry that she’d hyperventilate and pass out.
At the same time, awareness seemed to be coming back to her.
She no longer looked lost, trapped inside her own head.
“Mr. Monster?” she mumbled hoarsely.
The name took me back in time to when I found a little girl hiding in a closet. For a moment, it felt like I was back in that tight space with a girl hiding from something scary, something worse than the monster she shared that space with.
“It’s me,” I soothed, squeezing her hand. “I’m here. You’re okay.”
She took in a trembling breath while her shoulders slumped. She hung her head and shook it while covering her face with her free hand. “I’m so sorry. I—”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” I quickly cut her off. I crooked a finger beneath her chin so she had to look up at me. I nearly lost the ability to speak when I saw new tears streaming down her face. “Kendyll, you did nothing wrong. You don’t need to be sorry. It’s okay.”
The sight of this wasn’t new. I still recalled that final night when she lived with me all those years ago. She’d had a nightmare, something that happened often according to her old hospital records. It was like she’d seen a ghost, only ghosts didn’t scare her.
But something did.
“I haven’t had a nightmare in a while.” She bit her bottom lip hard enough that I worried she’d draw blood. She gave another feeble shake of her head. “I thought I was better.”
“Better?” I probed gently, wondering if this was my entry into her world.
She met my eyes again, but instead of answering, she pressed her lips together. Silence sat heavy between us for countless moments until she slowly laid back down, curled on her side. She slid a shaking hand across the mattress toward my side of the bed. “W-Will you hold my hand?”
I didn’t hesitate. I laid down on my side to face her, but it wasn’t her hand she held out to me. It was a single pinky. I swallowed hard and wrapped my pinky around hers. She was ice cold, and I hoped my own warmth would reach her soon.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I whispered into the dark.
She didn’t say yes, but she also didn’t say no. She stayed quiet, her eyes locked on where our pinkies intertwined, though I knew she couldn’t actually see it in the dark the way I could.
Licking my lips, I tried again. “Are they nightmares about Mountview?”
Her eyes closed. Like earlier, I didn’t think she was going to answer me. I thought exhaustion had pulled her back under, and this time, I was prepared to stay up all fucking night to make sure I kept the darkness away the minute I sensed it crossing into her dreams.
But she broke the silence in a tiny whisper. “About why I was there.”
I frowned. As far as I knew, she was there because her family put her there for seeing ghosts.
They thought she was mentally unwell and in need of psychiatric intervention.
I could only speculate now about the horrors she must’ve experienced before being admitted and maybe even during her stay.
Was she tormented by friends and family for having this gift?
Was she forced to endure radical treatments to “cure” her? Had someone hurt her?
My lips nearly peeled back in a snarl. The idea that anyone would fucking hurt her, would push her to the point where she screamed in terrified agony in her moments of rest, made me want to rip the perpetrator’s fucking body apart.
But I knew asking for the details now wasn’t right.
She couldn’t give an explanation in this moment, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted her to.
Whatever she’d just lived through in her head was enough torture for one night.
I didn’t want to make it worse by making her recount anything painful from her nightmare or her past.
So I stayed in place and squeezed my pinky tighter around hers to let her know I was right here, and I wasn’t going anywhere.
The memory of waking up to find her gone the last time we’d been in this situation felt fresh in my tired mind. I watched her drift back to sleep with her pinky still wrapped with mine.
“Please be here in the morning,” I whispered into the still night.
But, of course, I should’ve known better. I should’ve stayed awake all night. I should’ve held on tighter. I should’ve made her talk to me.
Because when my eyes fluttered open with the morning sun streaming through the windows, she was gone.