I hop in the shower, washing the remnants of the nightmare down the drain. I bundle myself up and head downstairs to grab a snack to have with some tea.
“NO!” The voice stops me in my tracks.
I look back at the door.
“STOP IT!” Jace’s voice is filled with agony.
I run to his door, pushing it open, prepared to tackle whoever is hurting him.
Jace is thrashing in the bed, sheets tangled around his legs, fists clenched. His chest is rapidly rising and falling like he can’t get enough air.
“No, stop, don’t,” he begs, his face twisted in pain.
I walk over to the side of the bed, clicking on the lamp then putting my hand on his shoulder. He flinches under my touch, a strangled sound leaving his throat.
“Hey, hey, sh, it’s okay,” I whisper. “You’re having a nightmare.”
His eyes fly open, wild and unfocused, his eyes bouncing around the room like they can’t find anything to focus on.
“It’s just me,” I say in a hushed tone.
His eyes finally find mine and his body relaxes, his fist unclenching the sheets. He runs a hand through his sweaty hair and sighs.
“Are you okay?” My eyes run over his body.
Every muscle is wound so tight, the tension stays even though he’s awake. Sweat glistens on his chest and his joggers rest low on his hips.
“Yeah,” he breathes.
“Okay.” I turn to leave, and his hand reaches out, grabbing mine. It’s cold and clammy.
“No, wait,” he breathes. “I’m sorry, I’m not.”
I stand there for a moment, debating whether to just walk out because his instinct was to lie to me again, or stay to see if he’ll tell me the truth.
“That must’ve been one hell of a nightmare,” I say, sitting slowly onto the bed. His hand keeps hold of mine, like I’m tethering him to Earth.
He nods, sitting up in bed. “What are you doing up?”
“Had nightmares of my own. Was going downstairs for a snack.”
In the soft golden light, the shadows of his face look deeper, the dark circles more prominent under his eyes. I haven’t let myself look at him this long.
“I’m sorry.” His voice is hoarse; he tries to clear his throat but doesn’t succeed. “One sec.” He reaches over to the other nightstand, where a bottle of water rests.
I gasp.
Pink, jagged lines run along Jace’s back like frozen bolts of lightning. Some are thin, delicate scratches, while others are deeper, raised ribbons of healed flesh that ripple when he shifts. The scars stretch from the base of his neck down to his shoulders, spreading out like a chaotic tapestry. A few lines curve in unexpected angles, reminders of moments I can’t even imagine. The light catches on the pale pink and silvery edges, making them glint faintly.
I swallow, words caught in my throat. “Jace…” I reach out and touch his back lightly.
He jumps, turning away as he swipes the bottle up. “Don’t.” He grinds his teeth, “You weren’t supposed to see that.”
“What?” I breathe out. “What happened? Who did that to you?” My voice increases in volume as the anger takes hold.
He hesitates, swallowing hard. His voice is broken. “It’s…It’s from Gideon.”
“Gideon?” I feel like a parrot, but I can’t seem to find any other words.
