Chapter 13 #2
My nights were often accompanied by nightmares, hazy snippets I’d already forgotten by the time I woke up—but one night, the horror my mind conjured as I slept felt much too real.
I was back in the stables, but everything was worse. Jelric wouldn’t stop bleeding, and still, he refused to die, no matter how often I stabbed him in his flesh. His face morphed into a grotesque mask as he lay on top of me, heavy and unyielding.
When the nightmare finally transitioned, I was back on the gallows, but this time, I wasn’t drugged.
I stared at the sneering faces of everyone I knew, almost crying as I caught a glimpse at the hateful expressions of my parents and bit back the acid bile in my throat at the satisfied smirks of Perran Feroy.
The noose around my neck felt real, even though I knew I was only dreaming. The coarse rope left burning marks on my skin and pulled tighter and tighter. I sobbed and fought against the restraints keeping my wrists bound behind my back.
The crowd started to chant, “Die, murderer, die!” and the vicious intent in their voices flushed into me like an icy chill running down my spine.
Suddenly, the ground vanished under my feet.
The rope pulled taut, and I couldn’t draw a single trickle of air in anymore.
I fought and struggled, but it was all in vain.
Back then, when I’d been hanged in reality, I had been void of feelings because I’d been drugged.
In this dream, nothing narcotized me, and I panicked.
Finally, my hands came free, and I clawed at the noose circling my neck, drawing my blood in panic.
At the same time, my father appeared behind me, wrinkling his nose as if I were the most disgusting thing he’d ever seen.
He lifted his cane and, without hesitation, brought it down on my suffocating body again and again, each blow more intense than the last, as if his intention was to split my whole body wide open.
I screamed, but there was no audible sound in the air because my airways were blocked. I was dying, I was dying—
“Wake up. Come on, open your eyes, Naya.”
Dizziness clouded my senses while I was deaf and blind, and my heart was pounding in my chest. Reality was a distorted concept for me, as if I were suspended in time and space, and I was almost painfully aware of my lungs expanding with each breath.
A voice. Gentle hands touching my shoulders. Strong arms pulling me close. Warmth. Safety. The smell of evergreens and petrichor. Dion.
I took a shuddering breath, and before I could even think of regaining my self-control, the first of many sobs broke free.
I wasn’t dead. I was alive. I was safe.
Only when Dion caught my hands and trapped my arms in his embrace did I notice I was still scratching at my neck, and thanks to him, I finally stopped mutilating myself.
Dion held me close, and I didn’t fight him. Instead, I buried my face in his chest as I cried and wept—chasing as much comfort as I could find.
“Shh, Nayana. It was just a dream. You had a nightmare. It’s over. You’re safe and not in any danger. I’ve got you. I’ll keep you safe.” Dion’s whispers were accompanied by gentle, caressing circles that his fingers painted on my back.
He let me cry until I couldn’t anymore, providing me with comfort when I wasn’t able to do it myself. It could have been minutes or hours before I regained control of my reactions, and embarrassment crept in where terror had roamed just moments ago.
“I’m sorry.” It was important that Dion knew how ashamed I was for crying like a weak little girl who couldn’t stomach a simple nightmare.
Dion gently placed a single finger under my chin and encouraged me to focus on him, his features barely visible in the dying light of the campfire.
His gray eyes met mine, full of a compassion I’d never seen in them before.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for. You took a life, and you almost lost yours.
Your reaction is normal. So don’t worry, and especially not about what I think, Nayana. ”
I struggled to maintain our eye contact, but I nodded nonetheless. My tears threatened to break through again, and I hesitated to speak, not trusting myself to hold back.
“You’ve scratched yourself bloody.” Without releasing me, Dion reached into his bag next to his bedroll and rummaged around in it. “Is it all right if I clean you up? If I touch your neck?”
His rare act of consideration and kindness moved me, and I nodded in response. “Just—don’t suffocate me.”
“I won’t. I promise.” Dion held a soft cloth he’d soaked with water from his canteen and began to clean my bleeding scratches with great care.
When he was satisfied, he dove into his bag again before turning to me another time, showing me a small container.
“It’s the balm Ireas made. I have to make sure your wounds don’t get infected. ”
I closed my eyes as Dion spread the balm everywhere I’d scratched myself during the nightmare, and once he was finished, I regained a shaky grip on myself again.
My trusty method of compartmentalizing had finally started to work again—I pushed all the memories back into the depths of my mind and hardened myself.
“Thank you,” I whispered and tried half-heartedly to disentangle myself from his arms. The way I’d acted left me in utter embarrassment, and although I was oddly comfortable in Dion’s embrace, I had to get some distance before he’d return to his usual charming self.
I wouldn’t be able to handle that at the moment.
Dion’s arms tightened in response. “Don’t leave. I’ll keep the dreams at bay.”
I should have resisted and not succumbed to weakness. But Dion’s warmth seeped into my bones, and the way he cradled me made me feel safe. “All right. I’ll stay. Just this once.”
Instead of responding, Dion moved closer until I was completely enveloped in his large frame.
I couldn’t help but let out a contented hum as I breathed in his intoxicating scent.
Still, I struggled to fall asleep for a few minutes.
Memories threatened to rise from the depths of my subconscious, and I tensed.
But as soon as the images of my nightmare appeared in front of my inner eye, Dion stirred, and his fingers stroked gently through my hair, playing with my locks and caressing my scalp in an attempt to soothe me. And he succeeded. I let out a small sigh as the memory vanished.
Dion had promised to keep the dreams at bay, and to my surprise, whatever he did was working.
“Just sleep.” Dion’s voice was barely a whisper against the shell of my ear. After moments of silence, I heard him again, but something was different. Notes floated through the air as he sang, and I recognized the song as the old lullaby I’d hummed earlier when he told me about his love of music.
The words differed from how I remembered them, but Dion’s deep voice and dark timbre, combined with the old tune and his warm embrace, wrapped me into a cocoon of safety. I wanted to listen to this beautiful song and the harmonies he created, but within minutes, I fell asleep.
Next morning, Dion was already up when I woke up, and we never spoke about what had happened during the night. I suspected he was just as embarrassed as I was but for different reasons, and when he didn’t mention any of it, I didn’t either.