I dare to roll toward her and have to dig a barrette out from under my thigh once I have. “You hide your self-esteem issues very well beneath your general hubris, you know that?”
“I don’t have self-esteem issues. I’mrealistic.”
“Uh-huh. You realize Zakery considers your sister to be a goddess that blesses the air he breathes when she’s just sitting around, right?”
“That’sMaelin. Have you seen Maelin? Have you spoken to Maelin? She’s precious. Lukas almost became my favorite brother when I heard he made Mae’s ex wet himself.”
Yeesh. Yeah. That was a whole…thing. “You’re funnier than Maelin.”
“Is humor that important to you?”
“Yes.”
She blinks, rolling onto her side, too. Facing me. “Well.” She lets her gaze lower. “I am funny.”
“Hilarious, mistress.”
“Why is themistressthing sticking, Kyran?”
Why, indeed. “Because I think it’s hilarious. And, as noted, humor is very important to me.”
Breath leaves her. “Of course you think it’s funny.” Her full bottom lip pouts, creating a little divot beneath it that is so remarkable, so perfect, sokissableI find myself in physical pain. She murmurs, “You really won’t braid my hair?”
“I am too tired to touch you in any way responsibly. I begin to hallucinate kissing your neck, pulling you close, and making you want something you’ve already made clear you don’t feel safe with.”
“Why are you so tired? Your stream didn’t run that late last night and you were in bed until two today. You know if you sleep too much, you’ll be just as tired as if you sleep too little?”
That is actually information I am privy to, yes.
Ah, decisions. I could tell her that I’m an insomniac. I could tell her that nightmares haunt me, constantly. I could bare this part of myself to her. Or I could keep it all bundled up and hidden away, vying for cheap mystery.
Trying very hard not to fall into the fantasies I craft while I’m lying right here and trying to sleep, I say, “I have insomnia. Not theoh no I didn’t sleep well last night because of insomniakind, either. It’s every night. I’m often scared to sleep because my dreams are that dark. I lie awake, anxious, and pray for the void of rest.”
Concern dips her brows. “That’s horrible. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, it’s not fun. But that’s why I’m tired. A lot. Why I really can’t quite…” My gaze slips, down, across…her. “Handle this right now.” I blink, then again, and rip myself from the drifting dangers. “They say sleep deprivation is comparable to being drunk. I have no idea what sorts of things my foggy mind would convince me are okay if I add you and alcohol to the samepicture, but that’s basically what’s happening right now.” When I blink again, my hand is on her cheek.
I stare at it.
Soft.
My thumb moves along the flushed skin, and I—
I pull back, stand up, and clutch my hands at my sides. Four slow breaths later, I dare to turn toward the silence of Morana.
She’s sat up.
She’s sat up, on my bed, with her hair streaming around her. A thick lock follows the rise and fall of her figure, and my mouth goes dry.
“What I’m hearing is that we’re at something of an impasse,” she says.
Really? Crazy. WhatI’mhearing are warning bells, going off, inside my skull.
“Where do we go from here?” she asks, as though assuming I have the bandwidth to formulate a good answer to that sort of question at the moment.
Hence, I give a bad answer, “Therapy?”
Her lips pull down, and the divot is back to haunt me with how kissable it is.
