"I amnotopening with 'You carried my offspring,' Caden. For the last time, humans don't talk like that."
The cat yowled from the doorway, like even she agreed I was hopeless.
I practiced a dozen more lines, each one crashing and burning harder than the last. Every time I got close to something normal, Caden tried to wedge in words like "hatchlings," or "progeny," or "eternal bond."
The worst part? Every time he said "ours," it felt right. Not out loud, maybe. But real, deep down.
I splashed some cold water on my face, looked myself in the eyes, and smiled for exactly one second. "Don't screw it up," I told the idiot in the mirror. "Just be real."
Tomorrow, hopefully, I'd face her. Or maybe I should say us. Whatever we were.
I had a hell of a lot to say. All I had to do was not combust before I got the words out.
Tash
The first crashpunched through my dream like a gunshot. I sat straight up, blinded by the numbers on the alarm clock, then scrambled for my robe. The next noise sounded worse. Something thumping hard, then by the time I heard a high cry, I was already halfway down the hall to Fifi's room.
The house was ice cold in the dark. Maybe I left a window cracked, or maybe the old insulation was garbage, but that wasn't important. Down the hall, Fifi's bedroom door was open just a sliver. Huey always liked to have access to Fifi's room at night. The only light came from the nightlight plugged into the baseboard, tossing weird, humped shadows across the half-unpacked boxes that blocked the way.
I made it to the threshold and got a grip on my panic. Fifi's bedsheets had twisted halfway off the mattress. She was writhing, heels pounding the mattress, both hands clenched on the comforter so tight her knuckles blanched. For a horrible moment, I thought it was a seizure, but her eyes were jammed shut. The sounds coming out of her weren't quite words, not yet. Then she started muttering, low and urgent. Her voice didn't even sound like her own. "Wake up, little spark. It's time you know who you are."
I charged in. Maybe not the best approach, but all the textbooks and therapy pamphlets in the world couldn't prepare me for the real thing. Huey was already there, on the bed, wild-eyed and pawing at Fifi's arm. He whined, then headbutted Fifi's palm like he wanted to knock her out of her nightmare with sheer stubbornness.
"Fifi, hey, it's okay, you're dreaming." I reached out, keeping my touch light, and tried to remember every instruction from every crisis plan we'd ever made.
It didn't work. Her whole body kicked harder, twisting so badly I thought she'd roll right off the mattress. Then, with a snap that shot straight down my spine, the bed frame gave out. The side rail split,dumping Fifi and the dog into a heap. Pillows and blankets went everywhere, but Fifi didn't open her eyes. She just muttered again, "Wake up, little spark, you have to wake up."
Huey jammed himself against her like a furry sandbag. He whined so loudly it almost drowned out the next set of thumps.
I didn't realize Mere was behind me until she barreled past, face pale under the tangled hair. "Oh my god," Mere blurted, hooking her arms under her sister's shoulders. "Fifi, you gotta get up, you're gonna crack your skull?—"
"I got her. Watch her head." I gripped Fifi's shoulder, just enough to steady her if she jerked awake.
She didn't, not for another minute. She thrashed and kicked, and for a split second, I thought her teeth might snap shut on her own tongue.
Then, all at once, her eyes popped open. She gasped like a landed fish, then scrambled upright, nearly knocking me back.
Her whole body shook, every muscle locked in a panic I recognized way too well. She blinked, wild-eyed, and for a terrifying instant didn't seem to know where she was.
Huey held the line. He shoved his head into her lap, wiggling so hard the bed groanedagain, and fixed on her with big brown eyes that saiddon't let go, please, I'm right here.
Mere held her wrist and crooned, "You're okay, it's safe, you're just here, I promise, relax." True enough, but Fifi wasn't landing. Not yet. I wanted to join Mere, but this called for intervention.
I fumbled for my phone, thumbed in the therapist's after-hours number with hands that were way too shaky for their own good. The obligatory robot voice answered. I bulldozed past the menu, desperate to get a human on the line.
The crisis counselor came on a moment later. She was soothing and professional, but I talked fast, giving the whole story. Nightmare, thrashing, furniture broken. She asked about injuries. No blood, no missing teeth. I could almost hear her scribbling notes.
"Okay. She's having trouble grounding. She's safe now, right? Someone's with her? Let's try a breathing exercise," the woman said, voice warm but calm.
I repeated every word out loud, hoping it would sink in. "All right, Fi, box breathing. In for four, hold for four, out for four, hold for four. I'll do it with you." I counted, exaggerating my own breathing, and made a big show of it. Huey grunted and panted like a dying steam engine.
Fifi tried, she really did. But every time she got tothe "hold" part, her lungs stuttered, and she shook so badly she had to start over. I counted with her, but my mind kept slipping. I saw a flash of a face I'd been trying very hard not to think about. Strong jaw, amber eyes, the kind of mouth that made a stupid one-night decision feel inevitable. I pushed the memory out before it could get sharp.
Mere whispered encouragement and kept kneading her hand like that alone could work miracles. After half a dozen rounds, Fifi just shook her head and buried her face in Huey's fur, the classic retreat.
I didn't blame her. I could barely keep my own breathing normal.
The therapist suggested more tricks. Cold water, a snack, ice cubes on the wrists, but Fifi shrank away from each one, like her nerves couldn't take another jolt.
