Page 22 of Until Tomorrow Comes
Silence rings through the house, making me question if I was just hearing things. I’m about to go back to my room when Kat lets out a painful yelp.
Throwing caution to the wind, I open the door on bated breath. The room is dark, but the glow from the moon lights it up enough for me to quickly assess that there’s no physical threat.
That’s when my eyes land on the bed and my heart immediately sinks.
Kat lays in the center, the blanket shoved down and tangled around her feet. One pillow has been shoved aside, hanging between the bed and the nightstand, and the reading tablet Alan asked me to get her last week is on the floor, which I assume is the thud that I heard earlier.
I’m no stranger to night terrors, both from my own experience and guys on my team having them overseas.
But this hits differently.
Something about seeing Kat trapped in her mind, reliving whatever hell that dickwad put her through, has the pit in my stomach twisting. My hands clutch into fists as I take a silent step forward.
“Stop, please stop!” Kat cries, kicking her leg out.
Her words wipe away any lingering doubt, and I immediately make my way to the side of the bed.
The tank top she fell asleep in has twisted around her, and in the dim moonlight, I can make out the large brown and yellow bruises along her ribs, contrasting darkly against her pale skin.
Taking a deep breath, I try to focus on the best way to wake her up.
“No!” She whimpers, jerking violently again, and yelping as her hand hits her face, narrowly missing the recently-healed cut above her eye.
But when she cries out again, her injured hand flailing dangerously close to her face once more, I don’t hesitate. As carefully as I can, I catch her wrist to stop it from hurting her, or accidentally reopening the cut.
However, the moment her wrist is in my hand, she lets out another cry, this one more terrified and frantic. Undoubtedly believing it’shimgrabbing her.
“Kat,” I say gently.
In the pale light, she looks small and fragile, her body still covered with scars and bruises from a man I’ve never met.
My nostrils flare as the sudden anger surges through me while looking at the damage this man did to her.
But I know her chaotic flailing and erratic movements are ultimately going to cause her more pain, so I quickly try to come up with the best way to wake her, without hurting her more.
Sleepily, she grunts and tries to pull her arm away, but I don’t let up. But again, my restraint only causes her more panic, and to flail more violently on the bed.
As carefully as I can, I pin her wrist to the bed and repeat her name, louder this time. Her body jerks away, and a tear rolls down her cheek, causing the ache in my chest to deepen. Finally I decide to sit down on the bed next to her. With my free hand, I tenderly touch her shoulder.
“Kat, wake up.”
She flinches, trying to retreat further into the mattress. Her next cry is more of a confused whimper, so I keep talking. “Kat, you’re safe. You’re not in the city, you got away.”
I trace circles on her wrist and shoulder, speaking gentle reminders that she’s with me and that she is safe. Slowly, I hear her breathing begin to calm, and she finally opens her eyes, blinking rapidly up at me.
As if on reflex, she flinches away, but I hold her steady.
“Easy there,” I say quietly.
At the sound of my voice, she instantly relaxes.
“Ja…Jackson?” She asks, another tear streaking slowly down her cheek.
I smile, slowly removing my hand from her shoulder, making sure to keep it in her line of sight the entire time. Gently, I cup her face in my palm, wiping away the tears.
“Yeah, I gotcha.” I whisper.
I watch as Kat relaxes into the mattress, breathing in deeply.
