And a groan utters out of me.
Nausea is starting to unfurl in my chest, like strands peeling away from my insides.
I blink and I see darkness.
I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling his raspy, chopped breaths disturbing my hair.
My hands slip from his forearm—
And he starts to move again, slowly pushing in and out of me.
My lashes shut—and I fade away.
20
The weight of my lashes is threatening to pull my eyes shut and sink me back into sleep—but the darkness startles me.
My breath is sharp, a quiet wince, as I stare at the remains of a blackout.
It must be over by now.
I don’t know how long I slept, but it feels a while, and I have the morning’s promised headache axing my skull in two.
My face twists, eyes squinting.
I wait for my sight to adjust.
It doesn’t.
The blackout is still swallowing me.
No, not me.
Us.
Eric’s bed is soft beneath me, a cloud for a pillow, layers of feathery quilts and fleece blankets to combat the eternal mountain cold.
And he is moulded to my back.
His chest is pressed up against my spine, his arm snaked under my pillow and his fingers loosely threaded through mine.
The warmth of his steady, soft breaths rustles the hair tangled at the crown of my head.
I can tell by his breathing that he’s deep in sleep, a peaceful one, too.
I could slip back into it, the dreams I don’t remember, the rest that tempts me with the soft pillows and quilts.
But the damn headache really is like someone took an axe to my skull, and the more seconds that pass, the worse the thudding gets.
I need to get back to my dorm.
In my bedside table, there are plenty of brews for all sorts of pain.
That’s where I need to go.
Problem, I don’t even know where I am.
Sure, in the boys’ dormitories somewhere, but like… where? How many levels are there, how many corridors and doors, how many staircases?
