I close my eyes.
The darkness behind my eyelids feels different now.
Heavier.
Cold.
“You told me to count the cracks in the ceiling so I wouldn’t hear the door opening.” His thumb drags over the scar on my ribs again, circling it, marking it like it’s his territory. “One. Two. Three.” His voice is a ghost of a child’s. “You never made it to ten.”
My chest heaves.
“Damien, please.”
“You always stopped at seven.” His grip on my waist tightens, pulling me so flush against him that I can feel every jagged breath he takes. “Because that’s when he’d reach the bed.”
A sharp, electric pain spikes in the back of my head.
I see a ceiling.
I see cracks like lightning.
I hear a latch click.
“I remember the counting,” I breathe, the words tasting like copper.
His body goes still.
Rigid.
“I remember the number seven.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes wide, pupils blown so large they’ve swallowed the colour.
“You remember,” he says, and it’s not a relief. It’s a sentence. “You remember the trade.”
My heart stops.
“What trade?”
His smile is the most broken thing I’ve ever seen.
“You were the one he wanted first.”
The room spins.
The monitors flicker, their blue light washing over his wrecked face like a bruise.
“You were the one he reached for.” His voice drops to a whisper, cold and hollow. “But I told him I’d be better.”
He drags the chain up, the cold metal clinking against the buttons of my shirt.
“I told him I’d never scream.”
“I told him I’d stay in the quiet place forever if he just let you sleep.” His breath hitches. “And you slept, Raven.”
“You slept while I prayed for both of us.”
I can’t breathe.
