Page 40 of Dirty Little Secrets
“Good thing I never sleep,” I say, wincing as the unvetted words leave my lips. “I guess I’m safe.”
Emery’s expression morphs into guarded concern. “You don’t sleep?”
“I rest, Miss Jones,” I state. “Don’t worry.”
She purses her prying lips. “When’s the last time you got a good night’s sleep?”
Water fills my lungs, my eyes stinging from the salt as my mother’s screams suffocate me.
“Years.”
Emery studies me intently, and I can’t figure out whether it’s empathy or sympathy. She pushes herself off the wall, taking two strides toward me as we near her floor. Placing a warm palm on my cheek, she whispers, “I don’t sleep either.”
“Why not?” I ask in a hushed tone, leaning into her hand, her presence lulling me into a false sense of security.
“Same reason as you,” she says, gaze flicking up tothe digital display as forty-four flashes and the doors open. “Well, I guess it’s time to say goodbye. Tonight has been…interesting.”
A frown mars my brows as I grab her arm, refusing to let her leave the elevator. “What did you meanthe same as me?”
She sighs. “Death, Mr. Cavanaugh. It seems to haunt us both, no?”
My frown deepens. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She tilts her head. “Remember what I told you before, Mr. Cavanaugh? I’ve died before. I can tell when a person is drowning in loss. And you?” She gives me a half-hearted shrug. “You’re drenched.”
“I don’t understand…” Her expression softens as I drop all my shields, unwilling, like a brief surrender, a momentary white flag.
“You lost your family, Damon.” She places a pained hand over her chest, voice on the cusp of trembling as she adds, “I lost myself…” She swallows. “In a way, we’re both grieving. Sleep…sleep can be difficult for the grieving.”
I shake my head, too exhausted to unravel her riddles. “How long have you been lost, Miss Jones?”
She gives me a weak smile as the elevator beeps. “Years.”
“It appears we’re both nocturnal animals,” I say, our fingertips gliding against one another as she floats out of the elevator. “Maybe you should come upstairs, Miss Jones. Even those who dwell in the darkness could use the company.”
She releases a melancholy giggle. “While I appreciate the offer, Mr. Cavanaugh, I prefer to suffer in solitude. Plus, after tonight.” She pauses. “I have a lot to think about.”
An unwitting warmth captures my heart. Yes, she does.
“You know where to find me if you get lonely, Miss Jones.”
She smirks. “Likewise.”
THE GLASS PRISM
EMERY
Soft yellow raysof sunlight peer through the blinds as I stare up at the ceiling, replaying the overwhelming events of last night in my mind. My damn mind. I thought it was my heart that was broken—sick—but the ailment has travelled to my brain. I cannot seem to justify my actions.
They’re irrational, dangerous. I am not irrational. I’ve neverbeenirrational. My life has been a series of thought-out choices, decisions that align with societal expectations. Get an education. Get a job. Get a boyfriend. So on and so forth. I’ve done all that. I’ve checked those boxes.
I’ve read that reaching one’s goals is supposed to produce a sense of accomplishment, of joy, of energy to keep moving forward. But I haven’t experienced any ofthat. I’ve always felt empty and unfulfilled. I chalked it up to depression or some sort of mental condition in which I wasn’t capable of feeling such emotions. But it turns out that I am. Conflict stirs inside my belly.
A contract.
Flashes of the hedonistic pleasure I witnessed at Club Hades ripple through me. Euphoria. Ecstasy. Joy. That’s what I felt when I was there. It was secondhand, but I felt it.
In the outside world, life passes me by in grim shades of black and gray, like a sketch of a painting that’s only in its early stages of creation. In Damon’s world—though gray in its own right—life is vibrant, nearly blinding with color.Even those who dwell in the darkness could use the company.He was right. Idodwell in darkness, but not just when the sun decides to rest and its sister takes patrol. I dwell in darkness on the brightest of days, the light never shining strong enough to scatter away the clouds, the rain, the perpetual state of night.
