Page 33 of Rapunzel Is Losing It

“I’ll postpone my flight.”

“Don’t.” She sighed and sagged into the cushion.

“You’re alone.” The words weren’t meant to sound insulting. There hadn’t been a single visitor in last seven weeks if you didn’t count the housekeeper or her therapist. I’d heard her on the phone with her father twice, and both phone calls had ended within a minute. Cordelia was alone in the most basic sense of the word.

She rolled her eyes at me. “I have a phone. I can dial 911 if it gets worse.”

“You hired me to keep you safe. Let me do my job.”

“I thought you were quitting.” The edge in her voice was the same challenging one from before, but she was slowly melting into the sofa, no tension left in her muscles.

“Consider this my two weeks’ notice,” I said.

“Okay,” she sighed, the rest of the fight deflating even from her voice. “Could you please help me get upstairs?”

“Of course.” I’d have to figure out how to tell Luka tomorrow. We were in more of a one-way conversation these days, with him dropping off updates and my papers in the mailbox. For now, I slid one arm around Cordelia’s waist and one around the back of her knees and got her off the sofa. Her arms folded around my neck, and her head immediately dropped to my shoulder. That girl was done for tonight.

“Victor,” she mumbled halfway up the stairs.

“Yes?”

“Could we never mention the kiss again? Would that be alright?”

“Yes,” I agreed, “that’s alright, Cordelia.”

CHAPTER TEN

I shot up in bed.Sweat coated my skin and I gasped for air. My chest didn’t expand enough. I couldn’t breathe.A gloved hand pressed over my mouth.Not real. I shook my head. I shook the image off. Shook off the scent of leather gloves. Nobody was here. The sheets tangled around me as I twisted, desperate for the glow of the star-shaped night light across the room. There it was.A small, blue shimmer against dark walls that eased the pressure behind my ribs.

I was at home. I was in my room.

“Grab the girl, Nick.”

My head snapped to my right but the shadows were still.

Not real.

It took me three tries to switch on my bedside lamp, my fingers trembling too much to grasp the switch. The lit-up roomwas empty, because of course it was. Nobody lurked in the corner to jump me. Nobody tried to drag me into a van while my mother bled out on the ground.

Fitzwilliam stretched on the windowsill and jumped onto the bed with surprising agility for such a huge cat. He curled into my lap, purring.

“Thank you,” I whispered, sinking both hands into his warm fur, letting his rumbling body ease my pulse.

I blew out a breath and glanced around my room again.

Oil painting on my wall. Real.

Potted plants taking over the window. Real.

Mountain of unopened boxes containing cat toys. Real.

One more deep breath before I rolled my shoulders back and climbed out of bed. There was a strange routine to the night terrors. Despite the adrenaline pumping through my veins and my brain trying to convince me that I was about to get kidnapped, I was used to everything that followed once the lights came on. Sleep was out of the picture for tonight.

I grabbed my phone from its docket and sent Victor a pink flower emoji. There were dozens of them in our chat history, usually sent sometime between 3am and 5am. It was the easiest way to let him know I was up without actually putting into words why.

The first time I’d woken him with my screams, he’d stormed into my room, ready to cut someone down.

Last year, when Del first moved in, he’d stayed in the guest room for a few weeks - and when my screams woke Del, he was there to stop her from turning it into a big deal.

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