Page 79 of Interion

Once I reached the bedroom, the cold air made every hair on my body stand on end—the night had grown even colder. I walked on trembling legs to the closet and put on the first thing I found. Black pajamas printed with teddy bears and rainbows. I made my way back to the bed, leaning against the walls for support, and burrowed under the covers. I didn’t understand why he’d said he would come back to the room, but I waited anyway.

Ten minutes later, he came back barefoot and wearing only sleep pants. As I watched him walk in, I wondered if he had some kind of problem with shirts. By the gods, it was obvious I couldn’t stop staring at his chest. The hormones were asleep, but my eyes weren’t.

Zion was carrying a blanket and pointed to the far end of the room, where I kept a white lounge chair.

“I'll lie down on the sofa by the wall. If you need me, just call,” Zion said, heading over there.

I was confused.

“Why don't you sleep in your room?”

“Keeping the shadows with you while I'm away takes a lot of energy. It's easier if we're close,” he explained.

This was the strangest situation I'd experienced in a long time. I didn't know how to deal with him, and despite still being angry about everything that had happened that night, I couldn't bring myself to let him sleep on that uncomfortable lounge chair.

“Why don't you lie down with me? The bed's big enough for two.”

I saw doubt flicker in his eyes and shuddered as I remembered what he'd said when we fought at the academy: “What? Did you really expect us to bind the partnership bond? You and me?” On second thought, I should let him sleep on the floor and scatter some nails around so he'd hurt himself.

“You want me to sleep in your bed?” he asked, swallowing hard.

“Yes?” The thought of the shadows abandoning me during the night was enough to make me swallow my wounded pride.

He was still hesitant—I could see the reluctance in his eyes. He looked from the uncomfortable lounge chair to the bed, then walked over to the right side of the mattress. He stayed standing.

“You really don't mind?” he asked seriously.

“Only if you snore—then I'll have to kick you out,” I joked, making room.

He didn't react to the joke but lay down beside me, leaving his blanket between us. I turned over and switched off the bedside lamp, leaving us in darkness. Outside, rain still splattered against the glass, and lightning lit up the entire room.

“Good night, General.” My voice was sleepy.

“Good night, Kyller,” I heard him mutter.

An involuntary smile tugged at my lips as sleep dragged me into deep waters.

Chapter 21

I woke to silvery light streaming through the window and immediately knew the sky outside was overcast and rainy.

They say that after a night of drinking and major mistakes, we wake up the next day with no memory of what happened. That's a sweet lie, invented and perpetuated to give us courage and justification when we're drunk and prone to all kinds of embarrassing behavior. The memories of last night came rushing back like a hurricane, and I sat up in bed looking for Zion, but realized only Kiara remained sprawled across the mattress, her head hanging at an odd angle. I nudged her to reposition herself and she grunted, stretching and opening her enormous mouth as she turned her heavy body toward me. I stayed quiet, listening for any sounds that would reveal Zion was still in the house, and heard the faint noise of the oven being opened in the kitchen. I couldn't decide whether to feel happy or tense that he was still home, but I thanked the gods he wasn't in the bed. That definitely would have been embarrassing.

I threw myself back into the sheets and buried my face in the pillow. Good gods! What had I done yesterday? My head was throbbing and I knew the alcohol was to blame. I couldn't figure out which item on the list made me feel worse: the hangover hammering my skull, my period starting, Breno being angry with me, the attack I'd suffered, or Zion being here. And I'd bet he was dying to give me another lecture.

I got up with difficulty and was thrilled to realize the cramps had improved to the point where I only felt slight discomfort. Satisfied, I looked for my phone and found it in the bathroom. I grabbed it, anxious to see if there was a message from the hospital, and was shocked to see it was already 4 p.m. I had slept all day. I checked my messages and, to my disappointment, there were none. Then I opened my conversation with Breno and hesitated about whether to send a message. He had to be upset with me, and I couldn't blame him—I would be too in his place. For four years I had kept something important from him; I should have told him right away when I mentioned the marriage.

I dialed his number. He didn't answer. I tried again, then a third time, then a fourth. The result was always the same: voicemail. With each ignored call, I began to feel pathetic, and by the sixth attempt, my confidence started to waver. I wondered what I would even say if he answered and couldn't think of anything good enough to convey my feelings. So I gave up on calling and turned to text messages. I wrote countless drafts but ended up deleting them all, because a message wasn't going to fix everything that had happened—in fact, I didn't think even a thousand words could erase the hurt I'd seen in his eyes. I needed to talk to Breno in person, but it was better to let the dust settle. We'd been friends long enough for me to know he needed space. Still, I opened the conversation once more and typed:

“I never wanted to hurt you. I know I should have told you sooner because you're my best friend and I shouldn't hide something like that from you, but I also didn't want to talk about it with anyone. I'm sorry, Breno.”

I thought about deleting it, but realized that would be pure cowardice. On an impulse of courage, I pressed send and breathed deeply, relieved.

Now came step two: dealing with the shame of what had happened in the alley, because when I thought about the attackers' hands holding me, my whole body recoiled with fear. I grew restless remembering the scene, feeling guilty, weak, and powerless. It seemed like this time, all of Zion's words tormented my mind, and accepting that he was right made me furious. With him and with myself. I replayed the moment over and over in my memory and couldn't stop the guilt and shame from crawling over my bones. I had failed again in a fight, and even though I had tried to fight back, I realized I was truly hopeless and had no chance of surviving alone.

“I know you're awake.” I jumped and nearly dropped my phone in the toilet when I heard Zion's voice from the hallway. “Do you need help coming down?”

I clutched the phone to my chest and took a breath, calming myself.