Alice’s expression shifted to something like guilt, as if she’d revealed a secret she shouldn’t have. “Sorry. I thought you knew, given how much time you spend together. She’d been cranky lately, and I connected it with her lack of sleep.”
I shook my head, keeping my voice level despite the sudden spike of concern. “Explain. Please.”
She glanced down the hallway, confirming we were alone, then lowered her voice. “She gets nightmares regularly. Normally, I sleep through them, but the worst ones. . .” Alice’s face softened with sympathy. “She cries out. Says things. I’ve gotten up once or twice to soothe her, and it seems to help settle her back into deeper sleep. She doesn’t realize it, and I don’t plan on telling her.”
Gratitude flared through me, unexpected and profound. “Thank you. Truly. For taking care of her.”
Alice shook her head, something sad crossing her features as she reached for me. “Natalia gets them sometimes, too, so I knew what to do. What helps.” She squeezed my arm gently. “She’s lucky to have you watching over her, even if she won’t admit it.”
Then she was gone, disappearing down the hallway with quick steps, leaving me alone with the knowledge that Violet suffered through horrors even in sleep.
I entered the dorm room quietly, easing the door closed behind me with barely a click. Sure enough, Violet lay in her bed, dressed in a thin white T-shirt and sleep shorts that did almost nothing to preserve modesty. Her breath was steady, the deep rhythm of genuine sleep, but her brow was pinched—a small crease between her eyes that spoke of discomfort even in unconsciousness.
I sat on the floor beside her bed, my back against the wall, and simply waited.
Watching her had become something of a habit over the past few days. Not in a way I could justify or explain, just a bone-deep need to confirm she was safe, breathing, still here.
Thirty minutes passed in quiet observation. I listened to her heartbeat—steady at first, the reliable rhythm I’d memorized without meaning to. I watched the rise and fall of her chest, the way her hair spreadacross the pillow, the vulnerability of sleep softening features that were always so guarded when awake.
Then she began to toss.
Quick, jerky movements that made me tense. Her head thrashed against the pillow, expression pained, her hands clenching the sheets, her legs kicking out. I was afraid she would hurt herself—slam her hand against the wall, fall out of the narrow bed, wake disoriented and panicked.
My hand reached out instinctively, settling against her forehead. Her skin was warm but not feverish, slightly damp with perspiration.
“No. No. Stop.” The words came out slurred, desperate, her voice younger somehow. Smaller.
Her heartbeat jumped—from forty beats per minute to nearly a hundred in seconds, erratic and panicked as if fear itself coiled in her dreams and wrapped around her heart.
I debated waking her, shaking her shoulder until consciousness returned and banished whatever horror played behind her closed eyes. But Alice’s method had worked, she’d said. Soothing rather than waking.
“Shh, you are safe, Violet.” The words felt oddly familiar on my tongue, and I realized why—I’d said them before, in my previous life, to children who’d lived in the brothels where I’d sometimes worked security. Children born into that world, who’d never known safety, who’d cried from nightmares I couldn’t even imagine. “Everything is alright.”
Her chest heaved with a sharp intake of breath, and my eyes drifted lower before I could stop them.
No bra beneath that thin tank top. Her nipples were taut, the barbells of her piercings visible through white fabric. I could see the slight swell of her breasts, the curve of her waist, the lean muscle of her stomach.
I forced my gaze away, guilt slamming into me.
She is vulnerable and terrified, and you are noticing her body like some creep.
But my eyes found another detail I’d somehow missed before—a tattoo on her left thigh, partially visible beneath the hem of her shorts. Delicate line work, though I couldn’t make out the full design from this angle but it was fresh like the ink on her arm.
When had she gotten that done? How had I not noticed?
Because you are not supposed to be staring at her thighs, you bastard.
“Stop, please.” She whimpered, and the sound drove a spike through my chest.
I kept my strokes gentle, my fingers carding through her hair with the same rhythm I’d use to calm a spooked horse. “Shh. It is okay, Violet.”
My knuckles ventured farther, stroking down her cheek with feather-light pressure, then lower to the column of her throat. I could feel her pulse beneath my fingertips—still too fast, still panicked, but beginning to slow.
“Rest. No one will hurt you while I am here.”
It seemed to be enough. . . she made a small, happy noise and nuzzled against my touch, turning her face towards my hand like a cat seeking warmth.
My cock jerked in immediate response, and I cursed my body’s betrayal.
