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Her fingers grasped my shirt in a death grip, her nails digging into my skin. She was crying. Her body shook with her sobs and she buried her face in chest.
My mind was filled with confusion and unanswered questions as I held her limp body in my arms. She gasped and choked on her cries.
“Make…it…stop. Please. I can’t take it,” she cried into my chest.
I froze and my heart stuttered.
“Make it stop.”
“Ayla?” When I started to push away so I could see her face, she cried harder and gripped my shirt tighter, refusing to budge.
“Please. Please. Make it stop. I can’t…I can’t…breathe. I can’t…take…it…anymore.”
“Ayla, what are you talking about?” She wasn’t making any sense and I didn’t know how to react to this.
What was she talking about? I never would’ve expected her to come to me this way.
She released her hold on my shirt and went completely limp in my arms. Her legs gave out, and if it hadn’t been for my arms around her, she would have fallen on the floor.
“Shit.” I lifted her into my arms, cradling her to my chest. I carried her to my bed and placed her on the mattress. Kneeling in front of her, I took her chin in my hand and made her look at me. Ayla refused to open her eyes. She whimpered and brought her hands to her chest, curling into herself. She was panting for air and covered in sweat. Her hair was sticking to her forehead and her cheeks were wet with tears.
She trembled, and when my fingers tightened on her chin, she cowered backward and let out a sharp cry.
My eyes widened in shock and I quickly released her. “Fuck. I’m not going to hurt you.”
She whimpered in response.
“Ayla, talk to me. What’s going on?” I coaxed. She brought her hands up to her head and twisted her fingers around her hair, then shook her head multiple times and started crying again.
“It hurts. It hurts so much. Please.”
She kept repeating over and over again.
Did she have a nightmare?
“Ayla—”
Her eyes snapped open, wide with panic and fright, and she heaved forward.
So much pain. Her eyes were filled with so much pain. My heart constricted at the sight.
Ayla looked down at her arms and her face scrunched up in panic. “No. No. No,” she mumbled under her breath.
She started rocking back and forth and her fingers were scratching at her arms, turning the skin bright red with her nails. They left long red lines, and if she continued that way, she would draw blood.
“Look. Look,” she cried, pushing her arms into my face. “Blood. I’m covered in blood…”
What the fuck?
“Ayla, you aren’t covered in blood,” I soothed, taking her arm in my hand and gently rubbing my thumb over the skin.
“No!” she wailed, snatching her arms away. “Look! Blood. Make it stop,” Ayla whispered, looking up at me with tearful eyes. The look she gave me broke my heart. I felt a searing pain pass through my chest at her agony. “You can…make…it…stop. Please,” she gasped between shallow breaths, staring at me expectantly. She was begging me with her eyes.
But she wasn’t making any sense and I couldn’t understand the pain filling my chest.
When I didn’t answer, I saw her eyes turn empty. I had seen a lot of stares like that. Every time I killed, I stared into lifeless eyes, and hers looked just like that.
Even though Ayla was breathing, alive, her eyes were dead.
Her shoulders sagged and she slowly slid off the bed until her knees hit the floor in front of me. She closed her eyes and pulled her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them.
Sitting there, she looked like a lost child. She looked like someone who was utterly broken with no hope.
“Ayla.” I swallowed hard against the heavy lump in my throat.
She rocked back and forth and I heard her mumbling something under her breath.
Leaning closer with my heart hammering wildly against my ribcage, I tried to listen to what she was saying. And what I heard took my breath away.
“Make it stop. Make it go away. No more blood. Make it go away.”
“Ayla, shit!” I swore loudly, pulling away as I ran my fingers through my hair in frustration.
She cowered in fear from my outburst and pulled her legs closer to her body, as if she was protecting herself from me. When I moved closer, she flinched and her eyes went wide as she waited for my next movement.
She was having a mental breakdown. I had witnessed men go through the same thing after their first kill.
I placed my hands out, palms facing her. “I’m not going to hurt you,” I said, moving slowly closer so that I wouldn’t scare her.
She watched my every movement but never responded, her eyes just as bleak and spiritless as before. When both our knees touched, she glanced down and I saw her swallowing hard.
