Page 33 of Break the Ice
God, please. The soundless scream rips raw from my throat to my head. A garble of words that die into dark blankness. My heart pounds. My body howls.
Stop.
Stop.
“Stop!” The mangled cry jolts me awake to the hazy lights of the city as I claw at the cold glass.
Everything hurts, even the sweat dripping from my scalp, running down my nape through the long strands of my hair. Everything hurts all over again as the empty retches yank at my stomach. All the bruises and the cuts burn to life. Reminding me of every unwanted touch. Every beating. Every… every…
Fuck.
Not again.
Pressing my forehead to the glass, I search out the coldest patch to ground myself. Instead, I find the exact spot where the view all the way to the concrete eleven stories below is uninterrupted.
Imagine falling.
Plummeting with no break fall till everything breaks apart. Bursts open.
I imagine how it would feel when the pieces are too gnarled to be put back together. I envision it until it’s not my imagination anymore. It’s who I am.
Too broken and too twisted to be anything to anyone. For anyone.
The alarm goes off longafter I jolted awake. The grip of my nightmare is still coiled tight around me when I return from my run. Sweat chills all over my body while I pad through the bedroom to the ensuite.
It’s been almost four years since the last time I sleepwalked. And even though I know no number of showers can wash away the aftermath of my night terrors, I still hold myself under the scalding water, allowing each drop to singe over my skin. Burning away the sticky residue of my messed-up head.
The alarm goes off again, keeping me in tune with my routine as I get out of the shower and brush my teeth while I walk out into my closet to pull out my workout clothes.
“Hey!”
“Fuck!” I spit toothpaste everywhere.
Panic envelopes me, clenching every muscle in my body as Finley pokes her head out from behind one of the dark walnut doors.
“Sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s okay.” The words are garbled past my electric brush as I shake myself out of my stupor and pause in front of Finley.
She visibly relaxes at my remark before she greets me again with a half-cringey smile. “Morning…”
“Uhh… morning.”
She’s in one of my t-shirts with a pair of my boxer briefs peaking from beneath the hem at the middle of her thighs. When she turns to face me fully, her eyes widen, perusing down my torso to where my towel is wrapped around my hips.
Her chest caves with a gasp, and my stare naturally zones in on the movement of her body. Finley’s breasts aren’t huge, but they are full andhigh, and her nipples are tight, neat buds that peak below the white cotton of my t-shirt.
I know she’s changed, grown into herself, filled out in the most magnificent way. But the images that go through my mind take me back to the first time I touched her. The first time I saw her naked.
My breath hitches in my chest. Swelling into a ball that sticks in my throat. I like this memory, and I’ve gone back to it countless times when the nightmares are the worst. Like when we were teenagers, my hands squeeze tight with the need to feel her skin.
I bet it’s still as soft and warm. Maybe warmer with the way a light blush creeps up her neck to her face.
The thought stirs up the memory of her touch and how amazing it felt. How invincible it made me feel to be wanted by her. Like I was good for something. For someone.For her.
“Elijah,” Finley rasps, taking a step closer.
Her eyes snap to mine as I force myself to swallow the mix of toothpaste and saliva flooding my mouth while one of my hands clamps around the top of my towel.
