Page 53 of Jayson
You left me.
And I did.
God, I did.
Sweat clings to every inch of me, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my lungs dragging for air that refuses to fill them. The night is too dark. Too heavy. The shadows crawl closer. I feel them.
“No,” I whisper. “No, no, no.”
It’s raining in the woods now. Blood drips from the branches like dew. She’s standing there—Riley—face pale, mouth open, eyes wide. Her dress is torn. One shoe missing. Her lips move.
You left me.
“No,” I say. “I didn’t know?—”
You watched.
“I didn’t—Riley, I didn’t?—”
You didn’t scream for me. You didn’t fight for me.
I try to run, but the trees grab my ankles, dragging me down, down, down into the dirt. I claw at the ground, nails cracking, and something cold wraps around my neck—tight.
I scream.
The door crashes open. Wood splinters. A dark shape rushes into the room like a storm let loose.
“Keira!”
Jayson’s voice is jagged, furious and terrified all at once. I barely register the sound of his feet stomping across the floor, or the way his hand grabs my arm—too tight, too fast—trying to snap me out of whatever hell I’ve just crawled out of.
“Keira, you’re dreaming,” he growls, shaking me gently. “It’s a nightmare. Wake up.”
My eyes are wide. Pupils blown. I’m trembling so hard my teeth chatter. I’m not sure I’m even here anymore. I don’t know what’s real and what’s not. Riley’s voice is still in my ear.
You left me.
“I couldn’t save you,” I whisper. “I tried. I?—”
Jayson’s hand tightens on my jaw, forcing me to look at him. His eyes are colder than ice. But behind them… something burns.
“You’re not there anymore,” he says through gritted teeth. “Wherever you were, you’re safe now. You’re in my house. You’re safe, Keira.”
I blink. The shadows curl back into the corners of my mind. Her voice fades. But I’m still not sure if I’m breathing on my own.
I blink again. Once. Twice.
The room tilts sideways, then jerks back into place. My skin is clammy, soaked with sweat. My shirt is plastered to my spine, clinging like the past. My fingers claw uselessly at the blankets, as if I can tear my way back to the present.
I’m not there anymore. I’m not there. But my body doesn’t believe it.
Jayson’s hands stay on me—one cupping my jaw, the other braced against my ribs like he’s trying to hold me together by force alone. His chest rises and falls in uneven bursts, and that fury in his eyes hasn’t softened. Not even a little.
“You’re safe,” he repeats, but now his voice has lost some of the gravel. It’s still rough, still hard—but there’s something under it. Something bruised. Like he finally realizes my trauma.
His hands fall away and he rises. He stands there in the wreckage of my room—of me—his chest rising and falling, jaw clenched so tight I hear it pop. His gaze sweeps the bed, thetangled sheets, my body shaking under them like a trapped thing.
And something inside him cracks.
