Her voice cuts through the silence. “Why do they call you Nightmare?”
I let out a slow breath. “You really want to know?”
She nods against my chest. “Yeah. I want to know you. All of you.”
I stare at the ceiling, that name bearing down like it always does. “It started in the Army. Rescue op. American hostages in an underground bunker. We were almost out… moving through the exit tunnel… when the door blew open.”
The memory slams into me, but I keep going. “I fired on instinct. A split-second call. And I was wrong. They shoved a kid at us to stall my team. By the time I processed what I’d done, he was already on the ground. Samir was only twelve years old. He used to come around talking to us even though his father toldhim to stay away. He was an innocent child, fascinated by our presence and they used him like his life meant nothing.”
My throat burns. I rub my hand over my face even though I know it won’t do a damn thing. “I still see him every time I close my eyes. Hear the shot. Watch his eyes go wide. Every damn night.”
Silence stretches, thick enough to choke on.
“That was the moment something in me cracked. Or changed. Whatever I was before? He died in that tunnel. What was left… that’s the part I’ve been dragging around. That’s why they call me Nightmare. Because the shit in my head doesn’t stay in my head… it follows me everywhere.”
I wait for her to pull back, to recoil, to see me the way command did; as the mistake no one wants on their record. But she doesn’t move. Her arms just tighten around me, skin warm against mine.
“It’s the kind of thing you don’t walk off,” I mutter. “You just… learn to function with it.”
Lolo’s voice is soft, but there’s grit under it. “You’re not the only one carrying ghosts.”
I glance down, but she keeps going.
“I was in the hospital for a week,” she says quietly. “They said they were putting me on a psych hold because I kept waking up screaming. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw my parents. Ty. The way they were executed.”
Her voice trembles, but she doesn’t. “So yeah… I know what it’s like. The faces are different, the nightmares are too, but it’s the same hell.”
Something shifts in my chest. It doesn’t ease, doesn’t lighten, just… shifts. Like a crack letting light through for the first time.
She looks up at me. “You think that makes you a nightmare? It makes you human, Malcolm. You didn’t run from what youdid. You carry it. Most people pretend their shit doesn’t exist, but you don’t.
I exhale slow, pressing my forehead to hers. “You don’t know what it’s like… waking up drenched in sweat, hearing screams that aren’t real, reliving that second before the shot over and over.”
She nods, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I do now,” she says, her voice full of sadness.
And for the first time in a long damn time, the weight I’m carrying doesn’t feel like mine alone.
It feels like ours.
Tilting her chin up, I brush my thumb over her cheek. She doesn’t look away. Doesn’t flinch. She just studies me. Eyes soft, dark, hitting me harder than any bullet I’ve taken. Like she’s remembering every line of my face in case the world takes one of us next.
“Nightmare,” she whispers, like saying that name means something. Maybe it does.
Pulling me close, her lips press into mine. It’s not desperate like before. Nothing like the heat that tore through us earlier. It’s deep, and controlled. The kind of kiss that breaks a man down without trying. It’s something that scares the fucking hell out of me. Then she sighs against my mouth, fingers running through my beard, tugging gently.
What is this woman doing to me?
“Nightmare…” she murmurs against my mouth, breath catching slightly. “Stay with me forever.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Lolo.” The words are out before I can stop them… and fuck, I mean them.
We move slow… slower than I knew I was capable of. My hands trace her back, her hips, her thighs, learning her shape instead of grabbing at her like an uncaged animal. Reaching between us, she strokes me slow, pumping her fist, and I groan.
“You don’t hide from me. Not your pain. Not your past. Not anything,” she softly demands, licking, and teasing my mouth.
“No,” I grit, biting her bottom lip. “Never from you.”
She hisses. “Good.” Her voice deepens. “Because I don’t want the clean version. I want the nightmare.”
