Aria. Aria. Aria.
I hear it. It whispers along my skin, down my spine like a caress. Enticing me to put one foot in front of the other and step deeper into the darkness.
‘Nocthare, wake up!’
No. Don’t make me. I want to cry.
Aria. Aria. Aria!
The voice gets louder now, as if it’s angry that someone dares to pull me away from it. From him? The fog thickens, its cloudy smog seems to dance and move around me as if it’s a living, breathing thing.
Stay. The voice says – no – commands.
Come to me. Come to me.
Something latches itself onto my wrist, curling around it like a vine and when I look down it’s to see a black tendril swallowing up my hand, snaking its way up my forearm.
I yelp and attempt to shake it off, but it holds firm.
My chest tightens with panic. ‘Let me go!’ I plead as I continue to try and pull my wrist from the fog.
‘NO!’
The voice booms, shaking the foundations of my nightmare. I cry out, reaching blindly for something to hold onto as the ground shakes and my body begins to sway.
‘Wake the fuck up!’I hear that distant voice shout. Louder this time.
I can’t!I want to scream. I’m stuck. I’m stuck.I’m stuck.
‘Ria!’
My back stiffens. I know that voice. I’d know it anywhere, even if you cut my damn ears off, I’d know it. I hear it again, then a third time and, as if his voice has attached itself to my consciousness, it tugs and pulls until eventually I feel myself wake.
‘Sebastian?’ My tongue feels heavy, as do my eyelids.
I hear him expel a relieved sigh. ‘It’s me. It’sme! Fucking hell.’ Hands are on my face, cupping my cheeks that I now register are damp.
Was I crying?
My eyes blink away the black fog that seconds ago felt like it was swallowing me whole. My eyes adjust to the dim lighting in my room; the lantern on the wall has burnt down to its last dregs, barely a sliver of yellow light is left but it’s enough to make out Sebastian’s face in the dark.
He hovers over me, careful not to put his weight down on my body as he strokes his thumbs beneath my eyes and over my cheek bones. Soft and sure – like he’s not afraid of touching me. That makes one of us.
‘Are you all right?’ he asks softly. I can barely see his eyes but for some reason I still picture what they look like. Green, consumed by his pupils, which enlarge when he’s worried.
‘W-what are you doing ?’ I ask, side stepping his question because my answer is too long-winded. There’s too much inside of me – too many conflicting emotions, nearly all of them about him.
‘I came to sleep in here, but I heard you screaming before the door had even opened,’ he says by way of answer. ‘I thought someone was …’ He trails off, his unspoken words speaking volumes.
He thought I was being attacked.
My heart stumbles for a beat, as if it can’t decide whether to start racing or to stop completely.
‘Sorry,’ I whisper, leaning into his touch ever so slightly. Stars, his hands feel wonderful against my face. They’re big and warm. Grounding. Each stroke along my skin feels sure and steady, like the calmest part of the sea.
I can faintly see his head shake from side to side. His thumb skims closer to my mouth now. Travelling down to the corner of my lips. ‘Don’t be,’ he whispers and I feel like I’m about to burst into flames.
What is happening right now?
