Page 75 of Axe-ing for Trouble
Her words chafed. What we were doing felt like a hell of a lot more than a hookup. It felt real and scary and beautiful.
But the moment those thoughts had formed in my mind, she’d brought me right back down to earth.
Though she’d fallen asleep in my bed, I had to assume I should sleep on the couch. So I gulped down a glass of water and looked out at the moonlight, grateful she hadn’t bothered trying to move to the couch.
We had an established routine. She’d fall asleep out here, insisting that was where she preferred to sleep. Then, when she was out cold, I’d pick her up and carry her to my bed, arranging the pillows to support her shoulder.
My old routine consisted of work, running with Ripley, spending quiet evenings at home reading, and playing guitar.
This new life I’d fallen into was wild.
All day, I found myself itching to go home to her.
It had become second nature to pick up small things—food, necessities, books—for her from town.
And my typical evening routine had gone out the window. Thankfully Ripley wasn’t afraid to alert me when she had a need, because I was distracted.
It was bizarre. I thrived on routine. I loved the simplicity of knowing what I’d be doing and when I’d be doing it.
But Mila had changed all that. She wasn’t a hurricane or a tornado. No, she was her own weather system: volatile, constantly changing, and requiring constant monitoring for surprise danger.
And I was beginning to think that was what my life had been missing. Why, though I fought against the thought, it had felt flat, empty.
I let Ripley inside, still lost in my thoughts. As I set my glass in the dishwasher, Mila let out a blood-curdling scream.
Heart in my throat, I darted to the bedroom. I pushed open the door, and as Ripley slipped past me, I found Mila still in bed, eyes closed, crying and thrashing.
Ripley spun in a circle, whining.
I kneeled beside the bed and cupped Mila’s face. “Wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”
She continued to whimper, saying “please, please” over and over again.
Gently, I shook her good shoulder and called her name again.
Finally, her eyes popped open. She sat up straight, immediately crying out and grabbing her injured arm. “What happened?” she gasped.
“I think you were having a nightmare.”
She nodded. “I feel like I’m going to be sick.”
I rubbed circles on her back, noting the damp fabric. The dream had to have been intense. She was covered in sweat. “I’ll get you a glass of water. Try to breathe.”
When I returned, I sat on the edge of the mattress. My hands shook as I held the cup out to her. The thought that she was in danger, no matter how fleeting it had been, had completely fried my nervous system.
“They found me,” she whispered as she wiped at her mouth. “Here. I dreamed that they found me. And you.” She shook her head. “It was bad.”
We sat in silence for a moment, the weight of that possibility settling in the air.
Eventually, though, I couldn’t stand the ache that had overtaken me, knowing she was so frightened. “They’re not going to find you,” I said with confidence I didn’t feel. “As far as they know, you’re in another country by now.”
“Sure.” She sniffed back tears. “But what about my mom? And Hugo? And you and your family? This is bigger than just me now.”
A chill ran through me. She was right. We couldn’t remain in this protective bubble forever.
“I know you’re scared. We’ll get through it—”
“No,” she interrupted. “I should go. Being here puts you in danger. And I care about you too much—”
