Page 12 of Bastard In A Suit, Vol. 3

Chapter 6

A guttural screamstartles me awake. I blink, eyes adjusting to the darkness, heart pounding up in my throat. In the seconds it takes for me to find my bearings, another cry cuts through the night and I realize it’s Duke.

I paw at the tangle of sheets, and try to shake him awake. His skin is cool and slick with sweat. I tear off the blankets but they’re wrapped too tight around his arms. He thrashes against the mattress, yanking me along with him as he tries to break free.

“I won’t tell you,” he shouts.

The force of his voice pings off the walls, fraught with pain, even in sleep. His fist comes up and I duck to avoid contact. “Duke,” I say, loudly, and then repeat it again with more authority. “Duke! Wake up!”

It’s like he’s trapped, caged, unable to free himself from the vice-grip of this nightmare. There is more grunting, a series of unintelligible sentences. I know without question he’s back in Afghanistan, reliving the torture he must have endured.

Pangs of sympathy spasm across my chest.

I have never felt so hopeless, helpless. Why can’t I get him to wake up?

“Duke!” I shake him hard, gripping his shoulders with as much force as I can muster. He shrugs me off and rolls onto his side, curling into the fetal position. His legs swing back and forth as if he’s trying to run, but with each stride, the sheets tangle more around his ankles. They’re too tight for me to unwrap.

“No!” he shouts, and I shrivel under the echo of the command. He says it again and again, now reaching toward his back. I scramble to the edge of the mattress and flick on the lamp. I need to find a way to pull him out of the darkness.

“Duke, please…” I pound on his shoulder with my fist, desperate to shock him awake. “Wake up. It’s me…it’s…”

His body stills and he slowly opens his eyes. He stares at me for a long minute, searching my face for answers. I don’t have any to give. His body trembles, sweat covers his forehead. He clutches a long scar on his back as if it’s an open wound. The pain that makes his eyes shine under the dim light cripples me.

“It was just a dream,” I say, softly.

I run my hand over his arm. He doesn’t flinch, but I can tell he’s not quite with it, somehow still reliving the experience. Disoriented and confused.

“Can I get you water? A drink? Anything?”

He sits upright and shakes his head. Runs his hand over his face, as if to reset himself.

I thread my fingers through his. “Does this happen often?”

“Not always.” His thumb rubs across mine. “I can’t predict what triggers it. Sometimes…”

The lump in my throat swells. “I didn’t know how to wake you…”

He unhooks our hands and curls me up against his chest. His heartbeat has slowed, but his skin is cool and clammy. “There is nothing more you could have done.” He tilts his head toward mine.

“Do they always last that long?”

Duke’s fingers wind around a strand of my hair. “I don’t know. No one has ever been here to witness them before.”

The significance of the words presses down on my chest, and through to my heart.

“Just you, Hailey,” he says.

Our heads turn in unison, and his lips gently brush against mine. The kiss is tender, sweet. He reaches behind my head and pulls me close until our foreheads touch. Electricity hums between us.

“Hailey,” he whispers, drowsily, on the cusp of sleep. Every hair on my body stands at attention. He kisses the tip of my nose. “I’m really glad you were here.”