Chapter 50 Larkin
Larkin
Iforce my eyes open, body begging for just five more minutes of sleep.
Salome mumbles incoherently next to me, still fast asleep, but fresh trails of tears streak her cheeks.
She curls into herself, knuckles blanching from her death grip on the blanket she’s wrapped tight in.
Sweat beads on her brow as she begins to twist and turn.
“Salome,” I whisper, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. I don’t want to startle her, but I also don’t want to leave her in whatever nightmare haunts her. “Salome,” I say again, a little louder, shaking her cautiously.
Her eyes fly open, wide with terror. She bolts upright, screaming and looking around the room in panic.
I don’t need to place an ear to her chest to know her heart is pounding like a frightened rabbit is caught in her ribcage.
She sucks in gulps of air, scanning the room one more time.
Then, she sinks her face into her hands and sobs.
I pull her shaking body to mine, encasing her in my arms and squeezing until I feel her muscles give way in relief.
Suddenly, I wish I hadn’t fought her so hard on not bringing the weighted blanket from home.
Shit, I’m definitely the asshole. “Shhhh,” I hush, brushing her hair back and placing a kiss on her feverish temple.
“It’s okay now. It was only a dream, babe. ”
Salome furiously shakes her head, tensing in my arms like she’s ready to flee from my touch. “It was so real,” she cries, continuing to shake her head, “and you were there. You just stood there, Larkin.”
“What happened?” I ask, knitting my brow and clenching my jaw at the memory of my own dream.
“You watched.” She struggles to get the words out between hiccupping sobs and labored breaths. “You watched.”
“I watched what?” My gut sinks, heavy with guilt from knowing what she’s about to say. How is it possible we had the same dream?
“You watched me burn.” Salome collapses into me, as though the release of her confession drained any adrenaline left from the shock of the dream.
I turn away to keep my expression hidden, bile creeping up my throat.
The lump of fluid lodges halfway, stinging my esophagus when my eyes catch on the portrait.
The hem of the woman’s dress is now singed, a small fire burning up the back.
I blink rapidly, trying to clear the vision, but it remains.
“Is that painting the same as last night?”
“I think so.” Salome sniffles, sitting up and wiping her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “Right? Why would it change overnight?”
“It must be,” I answer, trying to convince myself while continuing to analyze it. This painting is probably the reason for our nightmares, so it makes sense for her dress to have always been on fire. Of course it was—paintings don’t change themselves.
Salome’s fingertips trace my jaw, dragging my attention back to her. Her questioning gaze lingers on me, waiting for me to speak, but when I don’t, she clears her throat. “Are you okay, Larkin? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I can’t shake the feeling there’s something wrong with this house, though.” The truth slips from my lips before I can filter it, and the hurt look on Salome’s face shreds my heart.
“I’m sorry, you’re right. We shouldn’t have come.” Fresh tears turn her eyes glassy, nostrils flaring as she tries to keep them from spilling.
“No,” I say hurriedly, scrambling to take her hands in mine. “No, babe. It’s fine! Really! This house is huge. Maybe we should find another room to sleep in.”
“One with no pictures,” Salome agrees, getting out of bed and shivering as her feet touch the floor. “I’m going to get ready. Then, let’s get out of this room and at least find one that’s warm.”
She marches to the en-suite bathroom, trying to maintain her composure, but her shoulders are almost to her ears.
The door slams shut, and the harshness of it sends shockwaves through my rattled nerves.
Once I hear the shower kick on, I let the steady sound of falling water relax my body into the pillows.
I’m not sure what time it is, but it’s definitely too early to be this stressed out.
The shower turns to static as my mind drifts to thoughts of the water making tiny rivers down Salome’s skin. I imagine the way it roams over the swell of her breasts, trickling down her curves and making her entire body glisten in the dim bathroom light.
A whimper escapes my lips as I move my hand over the clenched muscles of my stomach before resting it between my thighs.
My back arches, swirling my fingers over my swollen clit.
I turn my head into the pillow to muffle my moans, building momentum until a familiar tightening starts in my core.
Waves of heat roll through my body. My eyes squeeze shut, and I picture Salome on her knees in front of me, my wetness slicked across her face.
Her hands move up my thighs, squeezing them forcefully and pulling me closer towards her hungry grin.
Fingernails scrape down the inside of my legs. I yelp, eyes popping open, expecting to see Salome there, deviously waiting for my reaction—but there’s no one. There’s fucking no one there.
I lean forward, only enough to peek over the edge of the bed, still nothing.
My heart jams in my throat as the dusty drapes covering the window rustle.
Goosebumps erupt on my arms as my blood turns to ice.
“Salome,” I call, attempting to keep my voice from cracking.
The water is still raging behind the closed door, so I try again, louder. “Salome?”
I lift a leg off the bed, ready to sprint the few feet between me and the bathroom, when I hear it. The distinct scream of a steam train’s whistle comes from behind the wall. Pulse pounding in my ears, I bolt to the bathroom and throw open the door just as the water stops. “Salome, are you okay?”
She peers around the dingy cream shower curtain, wet hair streaking her confused face. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” she asks, narrowing her eyes as she reaches for a towel.
“Didn’t you hear that?” I screech, waving my arms around. My panic becomes full blown fear when she only raises an eyebrow.
“Hear what?” She stares at me blankly, water dripping onto the floor with a steady tap, tap, tap.
“The fucking train,” I gasp, almost sobbing. “Please tell me you heard it.”
“Oh, that.” Salome chuckles, drying off. “It was the old pipes squealing when I turned the water off.”
Embarrassment heats my cheeks, an argument waiting on the tip of my tongue, but what if it really was the pipes? It would make more sense than a damn train being in the house. My stomach lurches, and I silently calculate how quickly I can make it to the toilet if it continues to sour.
Salome cups my face, startling me. I didn’t notice her moving right in front of my face. “Are you feeling alright?” she whispers, looking for hidden truths in my eyes. “Be honest with me.”
I place my hand over hers, interlacing our fingers and holding on like I can keep a grip on reality. My head moves in the semblance of a nod, and Salome presses her face closer until her nose brushes mine. “Yes, but I think I should go back to bed,” I manage to say, my words clipped.
Salome sighs, wrapping her arms around my waist and pressing her head against my chest. “Get some more sleep. I’ll head to breakfast and bring you something back.”
“Thanks, babe,” I reply, but it’s monotone, and I hardly recognize it.
She guides me back to bed, pulling up the covers before she turns to slip out of the bedroom. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, until the stinging in my legs convinces me to look at them. I pull back the sheet, raising my head wearily. A silent scream rises from my chest.
My inner thighs are streaked with raised welts—scratch marks.