Page 71 of The Road Less Traveled By

I finally was getting real sleep, and I could only get through one night before the nightmares came back. Will it ever end? Will my mind ever stop conjuring up the worst moments of my life to replay like I’m the only person at a movie? Even after he’s caught, when does it end? Does it ever end for me or can I only continue to fight my way through the toughest memories of my life? My breathing starts to pick up again, and I feel like I’m an earthquake and this is the aftershock.

If this is what forever looks like for me, I’m not sure if I want it.

I just wanted one glimpse of normalcy, and I thought I had that, but the reality of my mental state slapped me back to normal.

“Come back to me, Bree. Come out of that beautiful head of yours and focus on me.”

“I don’t know how to anymore,” I admit, feeling more defeated than I did when we first came here.

“Then I’ll do it for you,” he says while I feel his fingers against my skin,lightly grazing my arm. His stubble scratches against my shoulder and I can feel his breath on my neck as he slows his breathing down, silently telling me to try and match it, and I try my best.

“I thought you were dead,” I whisper, more tears falling out of my eyes and onto the carpet in front of me. Vince and I haven't changed positions yet, and talking about this without facing him is somehow easier. If I can feel him, I know he’s real, but if I look at him, he could disappear in an instant. “I thought Ralph killed you. H-he shot you, Vince. He shot Tristan too, and fuck, it felt so real.”

I continue to cry as he speaks. “You thought I was gone, but I’m right here, angel. I’m right fucking here, and I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going anywhere,” he repeats over and over again so it gets through my head. “Do you want me to call Liv and Tristan?”

I shake my head. “N-no. I don't want to bother them. It’s late,” I say as my breathing evens out, the words he’s repeating getting through my head. “I’ll never have peace again, Vince. This is what my mind does. It brings new scenarios into my head, and they haunt me for days until a new one takes over.”

He lets go of me before he leans down, picks me up, and carries me in his arms back into my room. He places me on my bed gently before he crawls into my sheets and wraps his arms around me, his tattoos disappearing into the t-shirt he’s wearing. “Your mind can do that, but I’ll always be here to make you remember it’s not real, that you’re safe, Bree. So, get some rest, and if the nightmare comes back, I’ll be here to wake you up from it.”

“Always?” I question his use of the word.

He nods at me. “Always.”

I start to drift off again, my emotions weighing me down and making my eyes heavy before they snap open again. “Vince?”

“Yeah?”

“Why were you in front of my door?” I ask, noting that I tripped over him trying to leave my room. I didn't run into him in the hallway. I trippedoverhim. The only rational explanation is that he was sitting in front of my door, but I don’t know why.

I hear him sigh heavily and tense up a bit when I ask the question, and when I think he’s going to pretend he didn't hear me, he answers, “I can’t sleep unless I’m in front of it.”

Oh.“Why?”

“One of the first nights I was back, I woke you from a nightmare. You didn't realize you were screaming for someone to stop, to get off of you, and I rushed in to find nobody there. I was relieved because I thought someone had gotten past me, and I made sure that could never happen again by sleeping in front of your door. It helped to ease my mind when all I did was toss and turn in my own bed. It was easier to wake you up from a nightmare. It wasn't every night, only a few times a week.”

“You came back in March,” I yawn. “It’s June. There’s no way you’ve been doing this for months, Vince.”

“I have been.”

“But why do you still do it here? We’re all alone. It’s safe.”

“Force of habit, I guess.” He rubs his hand against my arm like we’ve done this a million times before—cuddle in bed together after I have a nightmare.

“Oh,” is all I can manage before my eyes get too heavy to stay open.

Fear.

That’s all I felt as Bree scrambled over me, hiccupping through her words, tears streaming from her face. Pure fear like I’ve never felt before.

I’ve never been so out of control like I was tonight. And when I held her in my arms and calmed her down from a panic attack again, it felt like this was where I was always meant to be.

She was always meant to be in my arms, to be held by me.

Bree Hart is unraveling me day by day, minute by minute, second by second.

I’d give anything for her to have some relief from the confines of her own mind. But if she feels safe in my arms like I know she does, maybe one day, the panic will lessen, and the nightmares will be fewer and farther in between.

She told me before that she’s broken, that she needs to be fixed.

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