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I can’t sleep.The couch is too small and I know I’m too big for it and I was an idiot for telling Brandi that I’d take it.
Such an idiot.
Not only that, but how the hell am I supposed to get an ounce of rest with the little blonde sleeping upstairs in my bed?
Just thinking about it makes my dick hard, and there’s no way I’m going to jerk one out when she can walk down the stairs at any second.
Although, the thought of her catching me offers its own excitement, which just makes my issue even harder. Literally.
I shut my eyes and try to remember why I forced myself away from Brandi in the first place.
I think about who exactly she reminds me of and why joining her in my bed is an astronomically bad idea.
But still… I can’t help thinking maybe Brandi could be different—where it counts—and maybe it’s a good thing that we got stuck together tonight. There has to be a reason, even if no one made me go and pick her up from the school.
That had been all my genius idea, even though I pretended otherwise. I didn’t need to choose her for the task, and I certainly could have taken her back after we finished. But I didn’t, and not once did she complain in the rain and the cold or ever ask to take a break.
Wind howls in the distance, loud enough that it feels like it’s coming from inside the house. Even though I don’t hear the shutters banging against the walls, something’s raging. Except it doesn’t just sound like wind. The pitch… it’s not right. That noise is coming frominsidemy house.
Brandi.
She’s crying, screaming hoarsely, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m rushing upstairs and almost barreling into my bedroom without thinking. My heart races, unexpected fear gripping me deep in my gut.
No one could have broken in or snuck past me, so whatever demons are haunting her aren’t anything I can fight off.
The lamplight spills through the open door of my room and I stop in my tracks. Maybe I shouldn’t go in and disturb her. I don’t want to wake her up if she’s sleeping or piss her off if she wants to be alone. Or worse, make her afraid of me if she’s in the middle of a nightmare and I wake her up, making her think I’m the monster who’s hiding under the bed.
But her crying doesn’t stop as the seconds drag on. It grows worse and it tears at me, cutting my self-restraint into shreds that won’t ever go back together again. At least not here… not tonight. With a deep, calming breath, I walk into the room right as her cries turn into choking sobs. Unable to stop myself, I approach the bed where she’s curled into a ball on her side.
She doesn’t look up, and I can’t tell if her eyes are open, but she’s still crying.
“Brandi? Are you okay?” I touch her shoulder and she screams.
“Oh my God! Travis, you scared the shit out of me. What’s going on?” Her hair sticks out in every direction, and she seems oblivious to the tears streaming down her face as she watches me with wide, panic-filled eyes.
“You were crying and yelling in your sleep. It woke me up.” I hedge a little. “Are you okay?”
Her hands shake as she touches her face and she goes pale, her eyes haunted a moment before she blinks the ghosts away. “I didn’t…” She drops her hands to her lap and looks down. “I’m sorry I woke you up. I didn’t realize. It was a bad dream. Sometimes I get them. It’s no big deal.”
I really don’t believe her, even if she’s trying her best to convince me. I see the white sheen of panic on her face still, and the already dark circles under her eyes. That’s not even counting the way she’s trembling just like she’d been doing in her sleep. The only thing missing is the continuous flow of tears now that she’s wiped them away.
Rubbing a hand through my hair, I try to figure out what to say or do. I know I need a drink. One that’s stronger than water. Seeing the panic on her face, Brandi can probably go for something too. It might calm her nerves enough for her to get some rest. I know I definitely need something, or I’ll be locking myself in the shower under ice water with my dick in my hand.
“I’ll be right back, okay?” When she doesn’t answer me, or even look up from the blanket cocoon she’s wrapped in, I turn and leave the room.
Why am I acting like this? It’s just Brandi. Before yesterday, I wouldn’t even stand in the same room as her if I didn’t have to.
Once downstairs, I grab a glass and think about adding ice. Nah. We’ll drink it straight. Then I stand at the kitchen counter and reach for the bottle, my hand wrapping around the neck of the honey whiskey tightly. I breathe deep as thoughts of what I want to do with her—to her—chase the idea of leaving her alone. What the fuck am I thinking? Even seeing her cry didn’t do anything to erase the way I want to take her.
Brandi may not know it, but she needs me, and I can help. No one deserves to wake screaming from nightmares when it’s pretty obvious it’s something she deals with on a regular basis. Brandi shouldn’t be alone.
I don’t want to leave her alone.
We both need this.
At least, that’s what I tell myself as I straighten up and pour a decent slug into her glass. Then, bottle in one hand, drink in the other, I take the steps two at the time to get back to her. At the door I falter at the sight within.
She sits, head bowed, long hair flowing all around her, covering her face, looking for all the world like she’s lost and doesn’t know where she is. And the sorrow in her shoulders, the emotion so strong I can feel it, it does what nothing else has been able to since I met her.
