Page 39 of Psync
I cannot remember exactly the first time your soul whispered to mine, but I know you woke it. And it has never slept since.
~ JM Storm
It wasn’t perfect, but he hadn’t left a bazillion little splotches in his wake, so he was counting it as a win.
“Jesus, Eli.” Alice breathed, alerting Eli to the fact that she was hovering over his shoulder. “I had no idea you were so romantic. Maybe I should have accepted your proposal after all.”
“Um, I’m not, really. This just caught my attention.”
How could it not have? He had his own private mystery voice living in his head—one that had been oddly quiet over the past few days.
Was it okay?
The back of his mind tingled and for a split-second, Eli was wrapped in the sensation of hot sun beating on his back and a deep feeling of satisfaction. Then it was gone.
What the . . .?
Chapter Fifteen
Eli
But I know you woke it. And it has never slept since.
Stupid phrase, keeping him awake. He regretted ever picking it.
Eli hit his pillow for the 5,789thtime that night. Yesterday, Jace had called him to let him know he wasn’t going to be back that night—or the next. His dad had broken both of his legs, and Jace was filling in for him at his family’s farm stand until further notice.
Which, of course, sucked for Jace’s family, and Eli had assured him he would be fine—all while chewing a hole on the inside of his cheek.
He could do this. Hell, children could do this.
Juniper had been unbelievably supportive of him and his sleeping issues when they lived together. She never complained about missing out on sleepovers because her brother didn’t have his shit together enough to sleep on his own. Which was a miracle since she never hesitated to give him shit when she had the chance.
He owed her and everyone in his life to overcome this issue.
It was now night three of him sleeping in a room by himself. Not that he had actually done much sleeping. Mostly he drifted in and out of a light doze until jerking awake at the first hint of the shadow man appearing in his dreams.
He’d gotten to the point where he was afraid to close his eyes. He didn’t want to get trapped in another nightmare. It wasn’t like he would get lucky again and have Haruka call and wake him from it before it got bad.
He’d never asked Haruka what he’d called for either. It must have been important if he’d had to call before the sun rose.
The urge to call him now was sudden, like a punch to the gut. Eli had his phone in his hand before he even considered what he was doing. Until he saw in blinding glory, the big, fat 3:19 a.m. on his lock screen. It was way too late to call anyone right now.
Especially someone he’d been actively dodging for the past two days. What was he going to say?I’m sorry I keep running away every time I see you, but when I do I feel like I’m going to throw up and explode all at the same time?
Eli rolled off the bed with a groan and did all the push-ups he could manage before his arms rebelled and dropped him to the floor—a sum total of fifteen. He should probably work on his upper body strength. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do at night.
He pressed his cheek to the floor. It was half on the rag carpet his mother had made him and half on cold concrete. The contrasting textures gave him something to contemplate until the poem he’d copied shoved its way into his brain yet again.
. . . And it has never slept since.
The Voice had been intermittently active all day that day, but it was never anything concrete. Just random swears and unconnected phrases. The last one had been shortly before Eli tried to go to bed and was as enigmatic as all the rest. :At least tomorrow . . .:
Tomorrow? Tomorrow, what, Voice?
As far as Eli knew, there were no school events planned for tomorrow. So, unless it was personal, tomorrow was nothing. Though just to be on the safe side, Eli decided he’d stay away from any and all clock towers just in case the voice in his head decided to go on a killing spree.
He’d reached a new low point in his life if he was lying on the floor at ass-thirty in the morning wondering about the potential mental instability of the voice in his head.
