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Each strand of her hair pricks at my skin, but the scent … God, her fucking scent brings me back.
“Close your eyes,” I mutter. “I’ll stay here and watch over you.”
“Okay … good night.”
I don’t trust this agreeability. She’s the girl who always fights back, yet …
Has she started trusting me?
My body grows rigid against hers.
I can’t repeat the same mistakes.
I can’t fucking let it destroy me again.
PENELOPE
Every breath he takes, I can feel deep within my bones.
Like a watchful guardian, he stays put, silently waiting until I fall asleep.
But all I can focus on are those muscular arms wrapped around my waist and that tight snugness his body provides, like a warm, velvety cocoon shielding me from whatever darkness is out there.
How could I ever sleep like this?
My heart is going a million miles an hour like it’s running a marathon all by itself. Every time he moves, my entire body tingles. And I don’t understand why.
I suck in another breath and wait, but he doesn’t seem to be falling asleep either.
Maybe he wasn’t lying when he said he doesn’t sleep.
No wonder he has such sunken-in bloodshot eyes.
I swallow away the lump in my throat.
Could it be related to the Medusa tattoo?
No sleep for the wicked.
His words reverberate in my mind.
And from this corner of the bed, I’m staring straight at the nightstand, where an overturned glass filled with a crystal-clear fluid slowly drips onto the wood, the scent of alcohol penetrating my nostrils.
Goose bumps scatter on my skin, and I close my eyes again, wondering if my sister knew.
If this is the reason she fell.
But in the back of my mind, I think I already know the truth.
Because I’m feeling it too.
“Penelope … Penelope …” My sister’s voice forces me to open my eyes wide.
Her fingers reach for mine just before she falls.
“Stay away, Pen,” she says, but her voice is distorted and not hers.
I try to move, but my feet have sunken into quicksand at the top of the hill, the mud slowly consuming me whole.
“Eve!” I call out her name as she slowly tumbles backward over the hill.
“She won’t come back, Pen.” I turn to look only to find Felix grasping my hand, and no matter how hard I try to jerk free, it only gets me more stuck.
And I just want to reach my sister.
“Don’t make my mistakes,” Eve whispers. “Find my message.”
I scream out loud as her body disappears down the ledge into the crevice of despair.
I sit up straight and pant heavily, sweat droplets rolling down my back as I focus on my environment. I’m still in Felix’s bed, still in his room, still here, still safe.
It was just a nightmare.
A nightmare that really happened and keeps repeating itself in my mind.
I bury my face in my hands for a moment and breathe in and out to try to collect myself.
When I’ve calmed down a little, I open my eyes and look around. To my surprise, Felix is right there.
But his eyes are closed.
Has he fallen asleep?
His arm is draped over my thighs, while the other is tucked underneath his head, and I can’t help but admire him for a second. Much less menacing than the killer boy who literally cut off someone’s finger for sending me a threat. Like this, he almost looks … cute.
I gulp.
He said he wouldn’t sleep, yet here he is …
The sunken-in eyes on his face have reduced a little as though they were hankering for a good night's rest.
I wonder if his trauma made it impossible for him to sleep.
Maybe this is why he’s so harsh on everyone, even himself.
I slowly push his arm off me and crawl out of bed. I need to get out of this clammy place and reset my mind because that nightmare was too vivid and too fucked up. And why did my brain even bring Felix into it?
I shudder as I make my way across the hall, trying to find a bathroom to wash my face in that isn’t connected to one of their rooms. But the light around a door in the hallway draws me in. It’s the middle of the night. Who’s awake now and why?
The door isn’t closed all the way, so I peek through the crack.
It’s Alistair, and he’s busy with something at his desk, but I can’t tell what.
Curiosity prods me to open the door farther.
His arms move heavily, and his eyes keep flicking back and forth between whatever is in front of him and a phone.
On it is a picture of me.
“I know you’re there.”
His sudden voice spooks me a little, and I clutch the door, wondering if I should make a run for it.
“You can come in,” he says. “I don’t mind.”
I should really leave.
But with that picture on his phone, how could I?
He glances at me over his shoulder. “I won’t bite.”
