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Chapter Twenty-Seven
No nightmares.
That’s the first thought that crosses my sleepy consciousness as soon as I open my eyes.
Then, I take in the warmth. So, so much warmth.
Aiden spent the night here.
In my bed.
I stare at his sleeping face. His chin grazes my forehead and the slight stubble tickles my skin.
One of his arms surrounds my waist, his hand resting in the middle of my back. The other lies limp because I’m using his bicep as a pillow.
His leg cages both of mine like he’s stopping me from escaping.
I have to crane my head to get a full view of his face. His lashes appear thicker and longer when his eyes are closed.
His features are serene as if he isn’t feeling the weight of my head on his arm.
Who knew someone like Aiden would look so peaceful when asleep?
And who knew there would be a day where I’d sleep hugging him all night?
When he pulled me into him, I felt a sense of… belonging.
No. I shouldn’t be feeling any belonging with Aiden when I still haven’t figured him out yet.
He’s the same person who choked me that day and told me he’d destroy me. I can’t start trusting him because he climbed onto my balcony and soothed my nightmares.
…right?
Feeling confused, I slowly peel his heavy arm from around my waist and inch towards the edge of the bed, scooping my phone on the way.
I stand and throw one last peek at the massive body sprawled in my bed. Tingles curl my toes and across my spine.
Nope, not going there.
I trudge to the bathroom and quietly close the door.
A gasp leaves my lips when I look at my face in the mirror. A mess is the understatement of the freaking century.
My eyes are bloodshot and puffy, it’s a miracle they’re still open. Strands of my blonde hair poke out of my head like antennas and tears have left streaks down my cheeks.
How did Aiden even look at me, let alone hold me to sleep? It’s my own face and I’m disgusted with it.
I open the faucet and splash water on my face. Weird. I don’t have that urge to scrub my hands clean. It’s usually the first thing I do after a nightmare.
After brushing my teeth and pulling my hair into a messy bun, I turn to leave the bathroom.
My phone buzzes on the counter.
Since it’s almost seven in the morning, I don’t have to guess who’d be checking in on me this early.
Aunt B: Morning, hon. It’s the weekend so you sleep in, okay? We’re still caught up so we might come back later tonight. I’ll be checking the boxes so don’t skip meals.
I stare at her text and contemplate what to reply.
