Page 44 of Nyx
Darkness and quiet.
I welcome the numbness.
Welcome its peace.
Rainwater stirs me awake and the smell reminds me of my flower, but it’s so cold. He isn’t cold. He’s heat and warmth and safety, and I don’t feel safe here. More vines twist and coil around me as the fog settles in my mind, and I willingly fall back into its murky embrace.
The world is muffled, distant noises that sound as though they are miles away. Heat surrounds me as my body is jostled, and I nestle into the comfort it brings. My eyelids flutter open, and his face is blurred like I’m staringat it through a foggy window. Those sad, heavy eyes land on mine, and they’re so familiar.
“I think I’ve been dreaming of you my whole life,” I whisper. Absolute darkness creeps over my field of vision, and one final thought chases it through my addled mind.
If this is a dream, I’ll happily stay asleep forever.
Consciousness floods back in a rush of sensations that snap my eyes open, and I struggle to make sense of what’s happening.
I’m warm and dry, not chilled to the bone by pouring rain. The trees don’t swallow me with their shadows, and my magic no longer drains my energy. My eyes adjust to the faint sunlight that streams through the vine-covered window, and I realize it’s morning, and I’m home.
Reyes sits on the floor beside my bed, fast asleep. Onyx curls jut wildly off his head, catching the light in the same deep shade of mahogany as the flowers I love so much. His cheek is smooshed against the mattress, pushing his lips into a pucker as he breathes steadily. The potent rush of relief makes me draw in a heavy breath, and like he’d been waiting for a sign, his eyes open too.
“You’re awake,” he whispers, and I try to swallow, but my throat is so dry my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. I nod in a barely there dip of my chin and realize there’s a pillow under my head—one that smellsof him. Reyes rises to his knees, his cheek flushed pink and indented with a faint line from the edge of the mattress, but he’s alert.
“I’m sorry… gods, I’m so sorry.” His voice is just as quiet as before, like he’s afraid too much noise will pop this bubble we’re in. Tears pool in his eyes, reflecting the light in amber droplets. “I shouldn’t have left you. If I had known…” He trails off and glances at where my hand rests underneath the blanket, and I work it loose to stare at the golden glow on my knuckles. “I never would’ve gone. Never. Please believe me.”
I struggle with another swallow, and Reyes must realize, because he reaches for a glass of water on the table. It hits me then.
He’s seen this side of me.
The side that still lives in that place, and longs for the familiarity of those bars.
The one that can never seem to escape.
Shame burns my face as my eyes dart away, staring at the empty corners of this room. Thick, rancid embarrassment closes my throat, and I can’t breathe.
“Hey… hey, it’s alright,” Reyes soothes, his eyes widening as he reaches for me but hesitates. He’s locked in a moment of indecision, and I want the ground to open up and swallow me.
It isn’t alright.
None of this is alright.
“Please, sweetheart, can you try to sit up and drink something?” Fresh tears pool in my eyes, triggered by the simple show of care and the concern he can’t hide.
No one has ever cared, but that isn’t why I cry.
I cry for the weight of my chains that now drag him down.
“Please?” he repeats, and the desperate pleading in his tone convinces my limbs to move. I shakily rise into a sitting position, leaning against the wall behind me for support. The blanket falls away, exposing a shirt on my body that isn’t mine.
“I’m sorry,” he croaks, and when I glance at his face, that same devastation is written all over him. “You were so cold out there in the rain, and I was so scared, Nyx. I carried you home and changed your clothes. I was careful and didn’t… I didn’t see anything. And I know you might not have wanted me to touch you, but I had to take care of you. You probably don’t want me here, but I couldn’t leave you. Not again.”
My head tilts as I process his words. A lifetime of no authority over my body means I’ve always considered it someone else’s possession. Something that belonged to others, and that ownership gave them the right to handle me in any way they saw fit.
And now he cries, asking forgiveness for the only affectionate touches I’ve ever known.
Too good.
He is too good to be wasted on me.
And still, I give in to this curiosity, despite knowing I shouldn’t. As I reach for the glass of water, my fingers graze over his. Tiny sparks jolt over my skin where we touch, but it doesn’t hurt.
