She’s the sole survivor. The only one to crawl from the wreckage. For a moment, she’s happy and free, exactly how she felt when she learned her first husband had died….right before the all-encompassing grief of losing her child overtook that brief sense of relief.
No. Can’t think about that. She’s not happy. She wasn’t then, and she’s not now. It’s only her mind playing tricks on her, bringing up the worst moment of her life and shoving it into a new horror. Crawling back into the rubble is the only way tomake it stop, begging the fire to take her like it took the others. It always should have been her, and this time she’ll make it right. She’ll offer herself as a sacrifice if it’ll bring them back, but something grabs her snug and keeps her away from the flames. She struggles, fighting the monster that won’t let her die until her name is spoken in Theo’s rough voice into the shell of her ear.
Her eyes snap open, lungs heaving as the bedroom of the research facility comes into view, replacing the burnt wreckage of the plane.
It’s Theo holding her around the waist, telling her sweet things in the softest way as if she can process any of it. For a moment, she listens, craving the comfort he’s offering after years of denying herself anything of the sort. The way his breath flutters against her temple and thumb brushes her arm could easily be an angel’s touch, urging her up into the clouds. Hard to ignore. Almost impossible to refuse.
She gasps out a single, broken sob on the tail end of a few heavy tears before wrenching herself out of his grip and scrambling to the wall. Her back hits the barrier and she stares at him wide-eyed, holding out a hand that forces him to stop when he reaches for her again.
“I can’t.” She’s on the edge of crumbling already, and he hasn’t even responded. “Please don’t. I can’t.”
Can’t talk about it.
Can’t let him touch her.
Can’t feel it.
Can’t do anything.
“Okay.” He leans away again, sitting up against the pillows, arms hanging off bent knees, while he gives her the space she asked for.
“I have them a lot. Nightmares. But this one…”
“Tell me.”
She shakes her head. This one felt worse than most. Maybe becausehe was there.It’s proof that she cares for him enough to insert his likeness into a nightmare right along with her dead family, and that’s jarring and confusing. Whatever type of bonding they’ve done since the crash is scrambling her brain.
“I hoped they’d stopped after that first one, after the plane crash. But now it’s twice as bad.”
She still can’t get enough air into her lungs. Every effort is a struggle when it shouldn’t be. She’s had worse nightmares and hasn’t been this shaken. Learned how to calm herself alone. How to live with them.
“Feeling lightheaded?” he asks, carefully.
Nora nods almost frantically, on the verge of a panic attack as her skin heats up and flushes red.
“Don’t want me touching you?”
She shakes her head just as fast. If he holds her, she’ll break. It’s not his job to put her back together.
“Okay. Okay. We’re gonna breathe together. In and out. Just like we did yesterday when I was the one losing my shit instead.” He takes a few big inhales, holding them a moment before whooshing out, encouraging her to mimic him. It’s such a comically overt effort that she almost wants to laugh at how sincere he is because it’s so damn sweet. She didn’t exactly expect them to take turns calming each other down from their ongoing breakdowns.
All her exhales evaporating into bone-shaking shudders keep any laughing at bay. All she can see is the sight of him dead and charred to a crisp, still reaching for her with blackened fingers when she hadn’t been able to reach back.
“You can do it. Come on, with me. You’re not alone.” He holds out his hand for her to take if she wants, offering a second chance to do what she failed at accomplishing in her dream.
This time, she can touch him. This time, she’s not glued to a chair while they tumble toward the ground. She slowly reaches back, slipping her palm into his and letting the sizzling spark that bursts to life every time they touch ground her. Leans into it, rolling her head back against the wall and trying her best to breathe along with him.
“You were there,” she admits, when her head stops fuzzing and the desire to pass out fades. “And so was my daughter.”
The more she speaks, the more needy and ridiculous she becomes.
“I’m right here.”
“I know it wasn’t real.”
“They feel real, though, don’t they?”
She nods.
