Page 19 of Kaine

My hand immediately goes around my neck. Protecting it.

“Please. Please,” I hear myself beg.

“It won’t hurt a bit... well, maybe just a little. Or it could hurt a lot.”

I feel the cold blade press against the skin behind my ear and his arm pull me harder against him, keeping me still.

“Ready?”

“Noooo! Stop please!!!” My scream pierces my subconscious and jerks me awake.

The reality isn’t any more comforting that the nightmare.

The room is pitch dark, but I know I’m not in my own bed.

Footsteps are coming my way, hard and fast, I give in to instinct and feel for the edge of the blanket and sink down into the mattress, pulling the cover over my head.

The door swings open, throwing light into the room, filtering through the fabric of my blanket shield.

“Ms. Sinclair! Are you okay?”

It is a voice I recognize. But it isn’t the one from the dream. Or the one that has saved me... twice. But I recognize it. Under the blanket, I search my foggy brain for a face to go with the voice, but I can’t find one.

The footsteps come closer and I pull the blanket tighter around me, my heart pounding so hard I am surprised I can even hear the footsteps over them.

A hand lays gently on the blanket.

“Ms. Sinclair? Are you okay? I heard you scream. It’s me, Xavier.”

Xavier? Now even the name sounds familiar.

“I’m Xavier, Jade. We spoke on the phone earlier today.”

It finally dawns. I can’t put a face to the voice, because I’ve never seen it. But at least I know who it belongs to now.

I slowly poke my head out from under the edge of the blanket.

“Xavier?”

An insanely good-looking face peers back at me. So good-looking I think I blush.

“That’s what I’ve been told, ma’am.”

“Don’t call me ma’am. Where am I?”

“I’ll answer all your questions in a minute, just after I make sure you’re okay. That was a pretty scary scream you let out there. I heard you from all the way on the other side of the apartment.”

I feel like crawling back under the covers. I don’t really know what is more embarrassing, screaming so loud that a hot stranger has to come running, or the reason behind it, having a nightmare.

“I’m fine, um, I can’t really remember what it was, maybe it wasn’t even a scream, maybe, er, I was just singing in my sleep? It kinda sounds the same.”

Xavier looks at me like my kindergarten teacher once did when I told her I didn’t know who drew on the turtle, even though I was still holding the pink marker in my hand.

I bite the inside of my cheek, trying hard to hold his gaze, without wavering. He gives up and drops his questions.

I take the chance to ask him again, “Where am I? What happened?”

“You don’t remember anything?”