I don’t respond to Damien. He wants a reaction. Wants to see me spiral into the same protective panic that drove me away from her earlier tonight.
I won’t give him the satisfaction. I set the phone down, and close my eyes. I know I should be worried about Damien and his threats; instead I replay the kiss. The soft surprise of it. Her hands on my face, warm and certain. The way she smiled afterward, like she’d solved something. No hesitation. No pulling back. No flicker of confusion in her eyes.
She didn’t seem disturbed by the strange rhythm of my heart—one slow beat every few seconds, nothing like the steady thrum she’d expect. Or if she noticed, she filed it away with all the other things she’s choosing not to ask about: The coldness of my skin. The food I don’t eat. The sleep I don’t need.
Poppy has had trouble sleeping, but tonight… tonight she is deep asleep. I watch the steady rise and fall of her breathing—slow and peaceful and utterly oblivious to the monster in the corner.
The monster who’s trying to be something better.
The monster who is falling in love with every thing about her—even the fact that she talks in her sleep.
“The color temp is all wrong,” she murmurs at one point. “Needs to be... warmer.”
Later: “Sage, I can’t... no, that’s too many emojis. We’re not twelve.”
And, around 3 AM: “Julian.”
Just my name. Soft. Like a question she’s asking the dark.
Trust is beautiful.
Around 4 AM, she stirs. Shifts. Opens her eyes.
She gazes at me for quite some time. I wait for the fear—for the realization that a man she barely knows has been watching her sleep for hours.
It doesn’t come.
“Hey,” she says, voice rough with sleep.
“Hey.”
“You didn’t sleep.”
“I don’t sleep much.”
“You know, that’s not healthy.”
“Probably not.”
She pushes herself up onto one elbow. Her hair is tangled, her face creased from the pillow, her eyes still heavy-lidded. She’s never looked more beautiful.
“Why are you in my room, Julian?”
Because Damien is hunting, and you’re what he’ll use to hurt me.
Because I can’t protect you if I’m not close.
Because I’m terrified of what happens if I look away.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” I say instead. “After everything tonight. Damien appearing. Our conversation. I was worried.”
“You worried.” It’s not quite a question.
“Is that strange?”
She considers this. Then she pushes back the covers and pats the space beside her.
“If you’re going to not-sleep, you might as well do it somewhere comfortable.”
