Page 32 of Palingenesis

“Let me in.”

Chapter 18

Shannon

Gasping, I shoot upright so fast that the room spins. Sweat dampens my temples and rolls down my spine, yet I’m overtaken by a chill that leaves me trembling.

My chest pumps so hard with my heaving breath that I clutch the tightness there. It’s bare and wet, radiating a heat that feels feverish.

I swipe at my forehead and scan my surroundings.

Darkness greets me, though there’s a sliver of moonlight streaking the far wall. The one with my dresser against it–one that I share.

Feeling the bed around me, my fingers tangle in the sheets and pillows, palm meeting warm skin.

I jerk away instinct.

A glow warms the room from the bedside lamp. Bright enough to make me squint.

When I open my eyes again, fully adjusted, my breath catches in my throat at the sight of Henry turned over his shoulder, facing me with a worried pinch to his blond brows.

Henry … but not Henry.

I can’t place it, but there’s something off about the man lying next to me. Wrong. Kinder.

“What’s wrong?” he asks me with his hands and clear lips. “Bad dream?”

I can’t help but stare at him.

Henry never signs for me.

Stunned, I find myself nodding slowly.

“Sorry,” I sign by rubbing a closed, jerky fist over my chest. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

He shakes his head, his sleep-wrinkled face softening as he sits up and pulls the covers away from my still overheated body.

I almost grab it out of habit, if only to keep a barrier between us, but it easily slips through my fingers at the sight of his bare chest.

There’s no pillow wall between us. No pressed pajamas.

What in the fuck?

“Water,” Henry signs, tapping three fingers to his chin before jamming a thumb towards the door and climbing out of the bed.

Naked. He’s fucking naked.

Swinging my gaze away, I chew on my lower lip, my eyes bugging out of my head.

This has to be some kind of hallucination. Or maybe … maybe it's that moment where someone capable of such heinous behavior as he is, attempts to make up for everything in a short-lived attempt to confuse me? To keep me?

Gaslighting… That’s got to be what this is.

But I don’t fucking remember anything. Not how we got in bed. Or how we ended up naked.

Did we… fool around?

My heart rate kicks up in my chest at the idea of touching Henry in that way ever again. Not after all the things he’s said–the things he’s done–but I just can’t remember.