Long enough that my bones ache with it. Long enough that my thoughts feel slow and sticky, like I’m wading through honey every time someone speaks to me. I’m starting to lose piecesof time. I’ll be in the middle of boxing pastries and suddenly I’ll realize I’ve been staring at the same thing for thirty seconds without understanding what I’m looking at. I’m so tired my teeth hurt.
And still, every night, when the bakery closes and everyone heads home and the town goes quiet, dread starts creeping up my spine. I know what’s waiting for me the second I close my eyes.
I’ve had a boyfriend for two weeks. A sweet, gorgeous, impossible boyfriend who kisses me like I’m something precious and holds me like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he loosens his grip. I should be floating. I should be drunk on it. I should be basking in every second of being adored by Talon, of waking up with his sleepy voice in my ear and flour still dusted across his forearms from the bakery.
Instead, I’m barely surviving the days and fearing the nights. I hate it. I hate that Lord Yelling is still taking things from me. Even now, here in Hex, where the streets are lined with flower boxes and crooked little shops and people know my name.
I hate that I can’t seem to stop him. Most of all, I hate that Talon has started noticing. He hasn’t pushed. He’s too sweet for that. Talon watches me with those beautiful blue eyes full of quiet concern and asks if I’m okay in that careful tone of his. He already knows the answer, but he’s willing to let me lie if I need to. He offers naps. Makes me tea. Rubs circles over the back of my neck when I go still for too long. He’s started guiding me to sit whenever he catches me swaying on my feet.
I keep smiling and saying I’m fine. I keep kissing him and changing the subject and pretending the shadows under my eyes are because we’ve been staying up late doing much more interesting things than sleeping. I can’t let him know the truth. I can’t let him look at me and see a problem to solve.
This is mine. My mess. My nightmares. My damage. My fault.
By the time I drag myself into Wick’s, I’m so exhausted the bright painted menu board over the counter makes my eyes water.
The bakery smells like espresso and cinnamon and baked sugar. The world feels a little too bright, a little too loud. Cups clink behind the counter. Someone laughs near the window. The hiss of the steam wand cuts through my skull like a blade.
Beau is already at one of the little tables, sipping something pink and iced through a straw. His dark hair curls around his ears. His headphones cover his ears and he’s sunglasses are hooked to the front of his oversized shirt. I’m not sure why he’s alone. Usually the entire gang’s here all together.
He looks up the second he sees me, and his expression falls.
“Oof,” he says. “You look like death warmed over.”
“I feel worse than that,” I mutter.
I drop into the chair across from him instead of continuing behind the counter. My limbs don’t seem to belong to me anymore. Every joint aches. My eyes burn. My skin feels too tight over my body, too sensitive, like I’ve been rubbed raw from the inside out.
Beau’s teasing expression disappears entirely. “Wren.”
I put my elbows on the table and drop my face into my hands. The cool press of my palms against my eyes helps for about half a second.
“I’m fine,” I say into my fingers.
“You are many things, but ‘fine’ is not currently one of them.”
A laugh tries to claw its way out of me and dies somewhere in my throat.
Beau sets his drink down. The ice clinks softly in the cup. “Nightmares?” he whispers.
I go still. He doesn’t say anything else. He just waits, giving me room to lie if I want to. Talon’s mom really was right about Fae being able to lie in the human realm. I don’t mean to do it,but it makes life easier right now. Beau’s good at making silence feel safe instead of demanding.
My shoulders sag. “Yeah,” I whisper.
“How bad?”
I lift my head enough to look at him. “Bad enough that I’m starting to think maybe I should just never sleep again.”
“Wren.”
“I’m serious. If I’m awake, he can’t get me.” Until I blink.
Beau’s face softens. He knows something about nightmares. About the kind that cling to you after you wake up and stain the whole day. He still lives with what happened to his family all those years ago.
I stare down at the table, tracing a knot in the wood with my fingertip because it’s easier than looking at him. “It’s like no matter where I start, he’s there by the end. Sometimes I’m back in Fae lands. Sometimes I’m here in Hex and everything looks normal until I turn around and he’s standing in Talon’s kitchen, or in the bakery, or outside the bedroom door.” My voice wobbles and I hate it. I hate how weak it sounds. “Sometimes I can feel him touch me and when I wake up I swear I can still feel it. Sometimes though, all I have are memories from my life in the Fae lands. It’s all confusing. Things he shouldn’t know.”
Beau’s inhale is sharp enough to hear over the noise of the café.
“It doesn’t matter if Talon’s there,” I continue before I can stop myself. The words pour out now that I’ve started. “It doesn’t matter if he holds me all night or if I sleep alone or if I don’t sleep at all until I physically pass out. Lord Yelling is there every time I close my eyes. He’s there behind my eyelids. I’mso tired, Beau.”
