Page 149 of Somno Slave

I lean against the counter and stare at the dark window above the sink. My reflection looks back at me. Pale. Eyes shadowed. Hair falling messily around my face, knotted and tangled from where I brushed it with my fingers instead of a brush earlier.

My lips are swollen, too. Red-raw, plump, as though I’ve been kissed by something I don’t remember. I move to touch them, to soothe the ache and try to remember a pressure that once was, but I can’t bring myself to do it.

I stare at my reflection and wait for it to blink first.

I immediately feel silly.

Get a fucking grip, Rheda.

I look away quickly. I can’t bear to see the person I’m becoming. Or rather, the person I’m losing.

I return to the bedroom and sit on the edge of the bed again.

The clock creeps past three.

Still nothing.

No dreams.

No voice.

No sleep.

No him. The most painful realisation.

A strange ache blisters across my chest. The absence feels like a hole carved straight through my ribs.

“Where are you?” I whisper into the dark.

There’s no reply. But I wait anyway. Just in case.

Silence responds.

Eventually the sky outside the window begins to lighten. Grey creeps into the room. Morning again.

My body feels hollow, like something important drained out of it overnight.

I stare at the wall and try to remember the last time I felt rested. It seems like weeks ago or even years. Time doesn’t seem to obey me in a linear pattern. Even when he was forcing dreams onto my mind it didn’t feel like rest. It felt like hard work.

The alarm goes off again. The noise drills straight through my skull.

Lurching in its direction, I slam my hand onto the button until it stops. I stay there for a long moment as though frozen in time, before forcing myself to stand.

Work.

Routine.

Normal life.

But the shower helps less today. The water feels too hot and too loud. It pummels onto my sensitive skin. I feel shaky, sick. My hands refuse to still when I cake myself in makeup, a desperate attempt to hide the red rings staining my eyes. I force colour onto my cheeks. Blush. Contour. Anything to disguise the paleness, but it doesn’t seem to work. The makeup sits on top of my skin like a translucent mask. I look dead.

I don’t bother with breakfast either today. The thought of food is enough to make my head spin, and my stomach churn. I don’t trust that I’ll be able to keep it down. I leave hastily. The only thing moving my body forward is the knowledge that he is there.

Chapter Forty-Three

Rheda

I enter the building without really registering the journey here, like my body made the decision before my mind caught up. I pass the security man on the front desk.