Page 73 of The Little Shop of Curiosities Cursed Object 1, The Music Box

Realising I’m still clutching onto him like a lifeline, I flush in embarrassment. I try to pull back, but my head pulses again. The paracetamol only dulled it slightly, and now it seems to be intensifying.

“Steady there, Prickles.” He chuckles quietly. “Stop trying to run away. You’re safe with me, I promise.”

The funny thing is…I believe him.

He helps me settle onto a stool and then takes Cornelius’ book from my hand, setting it on the counter beside me. Then he hunkers down in front of me so we’re almost eye to eye. I feel absolutely stripped bare as he studies my face.

“Maybe you should see a doctor. As pretty as you are, Prickles, you don’t look well.”

“I’m fine,” I say, but even I can tell my tone lacks conviction. “It’s just a stubborn headache I can’t seem to get rid of. I—I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Hmm.” He continues to watch me. “I’m pretty sure I can help with the headache.”

“What?” I frown. “Are you a secret brain surgeon or something?”

He chuckles. “No, but I think I know what the problem might be,” he says earnestly. “Will you trust me?”

My knee jerk reaction is yes. Maybe it’s just because I’m in too much pain or that I’m so tired I feel like I could sleep for a week, but for once in my life, I don’t try to analyse my instincts. Instead, I nod slowly so as to not cause my head to throb further.

Sam smiles at me and surprisingly my body relaxes. He stands and moves behind me, placing his hands on my shoulders.

“Close your eyes,” he instructs.

“Why?”

“Just do it, Prickles.” I can hear a hint of amusement in his voice.

With a quiet huff, I comply.

“Now, breathe in slowly to the count of four.” Even though I feel a bit silly, I do as he says, letting him count it out. “Now breathe out to the count of four.”

We do this a couple of times, and I gradually feel the tension in my body releasing its ironlike grip.

“Now find your centre and block everything else out.”

His voice is low, his accent sexy and all rumbly. But his solid presence at my back is soothing. After a moment, his hand slides gently up my neck to my head, his fingers splaying out, and I can’t hold in the groan of absolute bliss when he begins to massage my scalp with firm, circular motions.

It’s at this moment I realise how starved for touch I’ve been. When I was a child, my dads were always affectionate. I had plenty of hugs. But I guess as I grew up and became more withdrawn to protect myself from people’s emotions, I cut myself off physically as well. Now I’m realising how a simple touch can make me feel like I want to cry.

Sam doesn’t make a big deal out of what he’s doing. He simply starts talking in that gorgeous low burr of his, and it’s like being wrapped up in the softest, warmest blanket imaginable.

“There are headaches,” he begins, “and then there are psychic headaches.”

He continues to massage, and it feels like my bones are melting.

“When I first woke up in the hospital after the attack that almost cost me my life, I knew straightaway something about me was different.” His voice is a low, soothing murmur. “Not just mentally and emotionally, not my view of the world and my place in it. But physically I was different, and not because of my injuries. At first, I didn’t understand it. Every person around me, everything I touched, it was like a never-ending barrage of images and feelings that didn’t belong to me. Then the headaches started.” He sighs. “At first, I put it down to the concussion, but it was excruciating and relentless. Scans and test results showed nothing, so out of sheer desperation, I eventually found my way to a psychic healer. She was the first person I’d met who got it without me having to fumble to explain something I didn’t really understand myself.”

“She helped you?” I say quietly.

“Yes, and she taught me how to manage it all as best I can. Those of us who have preternatural abilities often suffer like this. It’s the very unglamorous side of what people would assume is a gift but can quite often feel like a burden.”

I begin wanting to offer a little part of myself in exchange for his admission. “Where I grew up in Devon, it was hard for me, especially as a child. Knowing I was different, trying to learn how to control my abilities. It was too much. I suppose I’ve isolated myself over the years. Now being here, in one of the busiest cities in the world–”

“It’s a lot,” Sam agrees as he continues to massage the pain away. “I came into my abilities as an adult. I can only imagine how hard it is for a child to deal with.”

He slides his thumbs down to the base of my skull and presses firmly. I suck in a sharp breath as the pain releases its grip on me. With that comes the overwhelming desire to cry. His words, his quiet understanding, his gentle touch and care, the exhaustion I feel…it’s too much.

My eyes burn and my vision blurs as the tears spill over and slowly roll down my cheeks.