Page 16

His lips eventually find mine, and I resist his kiss by hitching a breath.

“Open your mouth, baby. Let me in.”

His lips are like silk and instantly make me feel better. I moan as I open my mouth and lose myself in him as he teases my tongue with his. Eventually, I give in and deepen the kiss, pouring all my agony into him.

My heart slows, and I find my breath, but I still can’t seem to find my voice.

“What did you dream about?” he asks, pulling his lips from mine.

How can I possibly answer?

“I dreamt about you.” I manage a whisper. It’s not exactly a lie…

His fingers find the hem of my pants, teasing my skin and causing me to press my body against his. The distance between us feels like an eternity. I want him… and I need him to know how badly.

My lips find his neck, and I kiss him softly for a few seconds before my hand finds his hard bulge pressing against my abdomen. I pull it out and wrap my fingers around the length of it.

This will help me forget. I moisten my lips and lower myself beneath the covers, where I spend the remainder of the night letting go of everything.

The laughter wakes me again.

The same laughter I’ve heard the last few weeks in my dreams. Micah’s breath is heavy beside me, which tells me I may not even be awake, although my hand painfully throbs. My hand is better, much better than before, and Micah says the throbbing is a good thing.

I nudge him slightly, but he doesn’t move. Micah barely sleeps, but when he does, he’s impenetrable, which means I am fully conscious and aware of him. If I were dreaming, would I have such practical thoughts?

This means the laughter is real.

Micah doesn’t stir as I slip out of bed, throw on an extra sweater, and grab my spear. I tiptoe to the door and step outside into the frigid temperatures, which now slap me in the face. The thin layer of clouds deep in the sky parts, allowing the Artic moon and stars to shine their light on the snow, providing me with the light I need to see.

I’m so aware of my surroundings that my senses are fired up. And somehow, despite the air burning my face and numbing my fingers and toes, I don’t consider myself truly conscious. Because this is the laughter I only hear in my nightmares.

And right now, I hear it clear as day.

I drag my fingers up my sleeve, giving me access to my exposed skin, and pinch myself, digging my long nails into my arm until three little drops of blood seep out. The pain is real, very real. I smear the blood to make sure that it’s real, too.

Someone’s out there. And they are taunting me.

I curl my toes and step into the deep snow, dragging myself toward the thick woods that surround our cabin. I instantly regret my decision as my foot sinks at least two feet. I trudge through it anyway, willing myself through it, ignoring the dull ache in my legs and the numbness in my toes. I pull my hood over my eyes to block the icy wind from penetrating my skull, and the laughter continues. I follow it, pausing a moment to listen… to truly listen.

It shifts from male to female. A dull ache simmers inside me. I dig my nails into my palms and continue. I need to end this before it begins.

I look back at the cabin, knowing Micah is there and I’ve broken his rule. I have two options. Tell him I hear voices and have him freak out and possibly kill someone tonight. Or admit to myself that the laughter probably isn’t real, and therefore, I should go back inside. I don’t want Micah worrying that I’m going crazy.

The laughter doesn’t stop. Someone is there just beyond the tree line; I can sense them.

I scan the woods, waiting for someone to show themselves. Gripping my spear tightly, I cautiously decide to explore, just to be safe. If it is the others, I can scream, and Micah will come running immediately. There’s a good chance it’s nothing and that I am sleepwalking. I’m probably not even really outside. My dreams are so vivid that I often cannot tell them apart from reality.

As I take each step, the laughter dissipates, replaced by the comforting stillness of the snow I have grown accustomed to. In certain areas where the snow is too heavy, the occasional crack of a branch breaks the silence. A gentle wind teases the bare branches as if calling me, trying to suck me deeper into the depths of the forest.

It is as if I’m not in control, and my feet root into the icy ground. In my stillness, I hear it again… the dark laughter. Images of sharp knives and bow ties flash through my mind. The laughter surrounds me now, their laughter… Naomi, Ezra, and Nigel. It has to be them.

However, what catches my attention is a figure in a dark hoodie standing completely still in the trees beyond. A dark hoodie with argyle sticking out of it.

I breathe. I calm my trembling heart and close my eyes. When I open them, Nigel’s gone. I still can’t shake the laughter, and now I’m positive I must be losing my mind. I pull up my spear and inspect it. Micah’s kept it sharp, although I haven’t needed to use it over these past few icy weeks.

Wiping frozen tears from my face, I press it into my injured hand to feel something again.

“Fuck,” I cry out as pain radiates from my hand to my arm and up to my shoulder. Pain to acknowledge I’m alive, to keep me grounded, to keep me from dying in these dark woods. The pain I’ve come so dependent on to feel anything, as mundane and critical as the air I breathe.