“Well that fucking hurt.” He shook his hand dramatically, and the annoyance lacing his words struck a chord so deep in her heart she nearly wept.
Could it really be him?
“I touched you,” she whispered.
“No, you godsdamned shocked me is what you did. Do you see this?” He pointed to the angry bruises on either side of his head. “I’m fucking done with electricity for a while okay?”
“Someone used electricity on you?”
“Look around. Do you think I’m in a fucking day spa? No. I’m not. I’m in an asylum housing the insane and every time someone like you shows up in my head, I get this.” He pointed again.
Baffled, she tilted her head as she assessed him. Xia had never told him what she looked like or, as silly as it was, even her name, but the way he described himself during their last talk fit him perfectly. She knew who he was, but how did she convince him of her identity?
“You look pretty beat up, buttercup.”
He paused, and his expression turned more leery rather than bursting with recognition.
“Who are you?”
“I’m kind of disappointed you don’t recognize me.”
“Why should I?
“You spend a majority of your time convincing yourself I’m not real,” she said sarcastically but then lowered her voice to something more somber. “Sometimes, you let me convince you to just pretend that I am.”
His brows rose as his mouth fell agape, but his eyes shone with recognition.
“Siren?”
Her smile was small, but inside she beamed at the way her nickname sounded on his tongue.
“Took you long enough.” She threw him a teasing wink, but the tension in his body didn’t relax.
“Oh my god I’ve got to be dreaming.” He covered his eyes with his hands and rubbed vigorously.
“I think you are. But so am I.” She shrugged.
“Oh, you’re dreaming too, huh? This is fucking ridiculous.” He stood and paced between the head and foot of the bed. His long legs could have covered the distance in one stride but anxiety kept his steps short and brisk.
“Is this how you always are? In real life I mean?”
He stopped pacing and stared her down, his features incredulous.
In one swift movement he was back on the bed and had her face in between his hands, urgency making his movements less graceful. They both held their breath as their eyes searched the other’s face.
Xia was the first to breathe, the exhale short and ragged.
“Brooks?”
Tears glistened silver as the moon reflected in his eyes.
“Are you real?” He whispered.
Her answer was breathless as he caressed her face, his thumbs rubbing small, delicate circles along her cheeks.
“Yes.”
His expression told her that his mind was still at war, that ever-present struggle to decide whether or not the object in front of him was real. What a nightmare it must be to not be able to trust your own mind. Xia could empathize. Living with the Lord of Nightmares could leave her mind just as dissociated from reality as Brooks’ was.
