Because his breathing was next to mine.
Because some ridiculous part of me already can’t imagine sleeping without him anymore. It’s absurd, how quickly he’s become the only place my brain feels safe.
I wish I could say the same for him.
Somewhere in the middle of the night, I wake to the sound of his breathing—heavy, uneven, almost panicked. Still dazed, I blink my eyes open and see him twisting under the sheets, caught in something he clearly can’t outrun. He must be having a nightmare.
“Let me go …” he chokes out, the words trembling. His face is scrunched in fear, fighting off shadows only he can see.
“Adam?” I breathe quietly. I don’t know if I should wake him or not.
“Please,” he wails, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I’ll be a good boy … Please, Mom …”
Something sinks heavy in my chest. He’s slipping somewhere I can’t follow, and somehow, that only drags me closer.
His whole body trembles, desperate.
I always knew there was something caged behind his eyes, something he never let me touch. But this … this is no nightmare. This is more like a memory clawing its way out of him, and I hate that it’s something he showed only in his sleep and not to me.
“Hey.” I run my fingers through his hair. “It’s just a nightmare,” I breathe against his ear.
But he flinches at my touch.
“Please, stop hurting me!” he cries out, voice cracking on pure terror. He’s still asleep, trapped, shaking so hard the bed shudders with him.
My pulse spikes. Something’s wrong.
“Adam.” I raise my voice and shove his shoulder harder than before. He has to wake up. I need him to wake up.
His face twists into something venomous and terrified all at once.
“I wish you would just die,” he spits.
If there’s one thing anyone should know about me, it’s that I’m reckless, and I don’t takenofor an answer.
I climb onto my knees and shake him harder. “Adam!”
His eyes snap open, wild and unfocused.
“Get your fucking hands off me!” he roars, exploding upward.
The force of his shove knocks me off the bed, the breath jolting from my chest.
Before I can even realize what’s happening, he’s already stumbled off the mattress, looming over me. Butheisn’t here. He’s somewhere else entirely.
His hands close around my throat, and he yanks me upward as if I’m part of the nightmare he’s still trapped in.
“Just die already!” he shouts, voice cracking, eyes not even seeing me.
“Adam … it’s me …” I choke out, his grip painfully tight on my throat, so much that the air can’t reach my lungs anymore. My fingers dig into his wrists, trying to pry him off. “It’s—Adam, it’s Isabella …”
He looks back into my eyes, his expression vacant and lost, as if he can’t tell reality from a dream. His breathing is shallow and uneven, but his fingers loosen on my throat.
“Isabella?” he gasps.
“You’re safe,” I cough.
“Oh my God,” he pants, kneeling on the floor.
