Page 44 of Somno Slave

But it sits there anyway, lodged too deep to dislodge, spreading through everything else until I can’t separate it from the rest of me.

Chapter Fifteen

Rheda

Sleep feels wrong long before it takes me.

I lie awake staring at the ceiling while shadows breathe slowly around the room. The red digits of the clock burn against the darkness beside the bed. 2:13. Then 2:47. Then 3:26.

Every sound feels too loud tonight. The pipes inside the walls. The distant rush of a car outside. The soft movement of fabric every time I shift beneath the duvet.

And every time my eyes start to drift shut, heat curls low in my stomach hard enough to wrench me awake again. My thighs tighten instinctively beneath the sheets. My pulse jumps at absolutely nothing. I feel aware of my own body in ways that make me sick. Every brush of fabric against my skin feels amplified.

Wrong.

It feels like something is waiting for me to fall asleep.

I squeeze my eyes shut hard enough to hurt but at some point, exhaustion wins anyway. I slip away too quickly like I’ve fallen from a height.

The air behind me changes immediately.

Awareness crawls sharply through my body before my mind fully catches up to it. My breathing falters halfway through an inhale as the mattress gives slightly at my back, the movement so faint I almost convince myself I imagined it until I feel it travel through the springs beneath me.

My heartbeat knocks hard once against my ribs. Then again, faster.

I lie perfectly still.

No. It can’t be.

Maybe I imagined it.

Maybe—

Something brushes against my waist. I flinch so hard inside myself it hurts.

A hand.

There’s no mistaking it this time. I try to move beneath the duvet, and nothing happens properly. My fingers twitch faintly before stopping again.

Panic starts low and then tears upward violently.

No.

My breathing turns shallow immediately. I try harder to move this time, to force my arm upward, roll over, sit up, anything, but my limbs feel heavy and wrong, buried deep beneath layers of concrete sleep that refuse to crack open completely.

It slides slowly across my waist beneath the duvet, fingertips dragging lightly enough to make my skin tighten around the touch. My chest jerks hard against the mattress. Nothing else follows.

Panic surges hotter.

Rough skin catches against my waist beneath my shirt.

Real.

Oh God.

My body jerks faintly beneath the touch but I can’t move. I can feel everything, but I can’t move!

Another hand slides between my thighs. Terror flashes white-hot through me as pressure parts my legs slowly beneath the duvet. My muscles fight weakly against it, trembling with effort, but the strength never fully arrives. My thighs only twitch before falling open again.