He cleared his throat, smiling. “I think I know,” he said into the phone as it recorded.
I smiled back. I loved this game. We’d played it more times than I could count.
“I think you got this scar saving someone,” he said. “Like in one of those Chuck Norris hero movies.”
I laughed. “Sounds about right.”
He leaned in and softly kissed the scar on my neck. “You remember now? Bullets flying. Screams of gratitude.”
He stopped recording and played it back. Hearing his recorded voice grounded me like nothing else could. This was our trick—a technique Cynthia taught me. If it was real, it would play back. If it wasn’t, if it was a hallucination, there’d be nothing. Not even during active psychosis.
So when his voice echoed from the speaker, steady and warm, something inside me unclenched.
This wasn’t a dream.
“See? I’m real,” he said softly. “You can play it for Cynthia tomorrow. She’ll hear it too.”
I smiled but remained silent.
His face shifted, concern returning. “You’re not canceling on her again, are you?”
I wanted to. But I didn’t want to disappoint him.
“No. I won’t cancel.”
I leaned in and kissed him, my hands cupping his face. God, he was beautiful. How had I gotten so lucky? His lips were soft, familiar. The kiss deepened, growing more urgent.
He eased me down onto the couch, his hands lifting my nightgown as his lips traced the length of my scar. It always turned us both on when he kissed it. Our strange little ritual. Our kink.
He entered me slowly, our bodies rocking in rhythm. It felt so good. It always did. Sometimes, it even brought me to tears.
“You saved someone when you got the scar,” he said, his mouth against my neck, tracing the edge of the scar.
I let out a low moan, my hips lifting instinctively as my body tensed under his touch.
“I know you did,” he continued, his voice low and rough against my ear. His pace quickened, each thrust pushing me closer to the edge. My fingers dug into his back as burning, tingling heat coiled inside me. A few more strokes, and we shattered together—gasping, trembling, our bodies locked in a tight embrace.
For a moment, he stayed on top of me, his lips pressed onto mine.
I pulled back to look into his eyes. “What if I got the scar robbing a candy store as a kid?” I teased.
“Nah,” he said, brushing hair from my sweaty face. His eyes were so certain. “You’re the selfless hero type.”
Chapter 5
Cynthia’s office felt heavier than usual the next day. I’d dreaded the session all morning. Maybe because things were supposed to be perfect now. Maybe because I knew they weren’t.
We got right into it.
“How are the nightmares going?” she asked.
“Not too bad,” I said, keeping my eyes on the wall behind her.
“Emily,” she said gently. “If you’re not honest with me, I can’t help you. These nightmares, they’re getting worse and worse. And they’ve been going on for how long now? Six months?”
Longer, technically. But things had gotten really bad around that time.
“Yes.”
