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He leans down, that familiar rich scent of his brushing over my senses. It reminds me of bare skin, of heated breaths, of tangle
d limbs and deep kisses.
I may not remember falling down the stairs, but as Gray leans in and presses his lips to mine, the memories of every moment I’ve spent with him are clear and sharp. Almost biting.
My breath leaves my lungs in one exhale as his soft kiss lingers, not wanting to pull away. Honestly, I want to pull him down into the bed with me, wrap my body around his and get lost in his kiss, but I’m limp with fatigue and exhaustion, and my head is still pounding. I’m a big fan of fucking my pain away—that’s how Gray and I met, actually—but in this instance, I don’t think it’ll work.
“Sleep well,” Gray murmurs against my mouth. Our noses brush as he breaks the kiss. It’s a sweet, tender touch that shouldn’t make my toes curl beneath the covers, but it does. “We’ll be back.”
We’ll be back.
I believe him.
Elias and Declan don’t bother to look away anymore, don’t bother to pretend they aren’t affected by the way Gray kisses me. I’ve kissed both of his friends more than once, not to mention that time all three of them gathered around me on Gray’s bed and made me come harder than I ever have before.
I’m not entirely sure what discussions they’ve had, or if they’ve even talked about this strange thing that’s going on between the four of us, but they don’t seem to be fighting over me. They don’t even seem jealous of each other touching me—not like they once did. The fact that they’re all here with me in the hospital speaks volumes.
It’s complicated and confusing, but I’m not in a place to really examine it right now, and certainly not in a place to talk about it. My temples are throbbing and sleep is tugging at me. I’m not gonna be conscious for much longer.
Gray throws one last look over his shoulder as he and the guys shuffle out, a flash of worry passing through his features. I give him a weak smile that’s supposed to be reassuring, although I don’t think it has the intended effect. If anything, he looks even more concerned as he closes the door behind them.
As soon as the door clicks shut and there’s nothing else to keep my attention, the room around me starts becoming muddy. The clock above the door swirls and whirls around until it’s no more than a smudge of numbers and arrows, until the sterile hospital room slowly drifts away from me. With a deep sigh, I slip back into the dark, quiet world of sleep.
Maybe I’ll remember when I wake up.
2
I wake up with a gasp.
I’m clutching the damp sheet with both hands, and the bottom part of the fabric is wrapped around my legs, making me feel claustrophobic and trapped. My body is slick with sweat that begins to chill on my skin as I come out of a dream I don’t remember, my muscles shaking violently.
It’s dark in the room. A little light streams through the window, but it’s not enough.
Fuck.
I’m not scared of the darkness around me, but I am afraid of this—of the feelings roiling in my chest. I was dreaming, but just like so many other goddamn things in my life, I can’t remember what it is I was dreaming about. All I know is that it was a nightmare, and either my body is trying to protect me from the demons that attacked me in my sleep by storing it away somewhere I can’t reach it, or I’m really starting to lose all of my memories.
Jesus, Sophie. Get it the fuck together.
I push aside the sheets that are wrapped around my legs, shoving them off the bed. Fear wracks my body, even though there’s nothing to be scared of, and I fucking hate it.
Why can’t I just be a normal goddamn human being?
Things were going well, or starting to, over the past few weeks. Once the Sinners made it clear they were unequivocally on my side, the bullying and stupid taunts calmed down. Gray finally told me about his sister, admitting why he’d been such a fucking asshole, and something seismic shifted between us. I could relate to his pain, his loss. Jared wasn’t my brother, but in the fucked up adolescence I had, he was the closest thing to one I’d ever get.
And Declan and Elias. Things were changing between the three of us too. Becoming deeper, becoming… more.
But then this happened. I fell down a fucking flight of stairs and now I can’t remember shit. I can’t even remember the dreams that haunted me mere minutes ago, can’t remember the images that cause the lingering fear, pumping through my body like adrenaline.
I need my paints.
My whole body shivers as I try to suck in deep breaths, try to calm myself.
I need to paint.
Art has always been my outlet, and I fucking need that right now. I need my paints to be able to channel the fear and the energy into color and darkness, into shapes and shadows. I need to put it down on a canvas, on a page—if for no other reason than to prove to myself that it is real, to remember what it is my subconscious is trying so hard to repress.
I need my paints to let those fleeting memories become solid, real, tangible. I need the canvas to be able to get all the shit out of my head and onto a place where I can actually examine it, see it. Feel it.
