I can’t bring myself to react. It doesn’t sound real. I’m sure it isn’t.
He clicks his tongue impatiently. “You’re a very naughty girl, aren’t you? Here I am, opening myself up to you, and you’re not even listening. Have you heard anything I’ve said these past few days? Clearly not, or you wouldn’t be staring at me like your brain is turned off.”
I close my eyes, willing him in equal parts to go and to stay. His words hurt me even as his presence soothes me more than I can understand.
He sighs. “Come here.”
He lifts me once more into his lap, cradling me like I’m ahelpless child. I can’t resist nestling into him, and the words he continues to speak sound meaningless again. The only thing I care about is their soothing warmth. I doze off, his voice like a lullaby in my ears.
__
It doesn’t feel like I’ve slept a long time, but when I open my eyes again, the room is enshrouded in darkness. Damien is still holding me in his arms. In fact, he doesn’t seem to have moved at all, and yet, he must have held me like this for hours. It’s pitch black.
“Go to sleep,” he murmurs, as he begins to rock me back and forth. “It’s the middle of the night.”
But I’m wide awake, the gloomy darkness piercing through my heart, sending cold shivers down my back.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, noticing my state.
“The light,” I gasp. “Please… turn on the light.”
Still holding me, he reaches for the bedside lamp, and clicks it on. Then he looks back at me with a teasing expression.
“Scared of the dark, pet?”
Yes, I am. Far too scared to be angered by his amused tone. Ever since I was buried in the ground, the dark terrifies me. I always kept the bathroom light turned on at the house in the Catskills. And, although I would close the door, that little triangle of light was enough to keep me sane.
He stares at me, seeming to read me, as usual.
“Tell me what happened.”
I shut my eyes and try to nestle back into his chest, but his fingers find my chin, and he gently angles my face up so that I’m forced to meet his eye.
“Go on. Tell me.”
I’m too tired to resist. But it’s so hard to speak. He waits patiently, stroking my hair, seeming to understand me better than I understand myself. I want to tell him. I just can’t find the words.
At last, I manage to whisper, “I was buried.”
I feel him tense around me, and he doesn’t move for such a long time that I begin to wonder if he’s okay.
“So, theydidbury you?” he says at last, his voice hoarse. “In a coffin? Underground?”
I can’t even nod a confirmation to those words that bring back a rush of horrible memories. Memories I’ve been keeping deep down, under all the layers of silence. I can’t have them surging back. It would be too hard.
But he doesn’t need me to nod. He knows what my silence means.
“How were you able to get out? Was it Noel?”
This time, I do manage a nod, and he squeezes me to his chest.
“How long were you in there?”
Too long. Far too long. I’d have no idea, only Noel gloatingly mentioned it. Told me how he’d had a few drinks and forgotten all about me. How he wondered, as he was digging me out, whether it wasn’t already too late.
“Four hours and fifty-three minutes,” I recite, the words ingrained in my mind.
He groans and presses me to him again.
