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But as I focus on the stars and the beat of Theron’s heart against my cheek,it feels like I’m hoping for all the gold in the world.
31
RUSSELL
I used to be a good sleeper before I joined the military. As a teen, I could fall into my bed fully clothed, still wearing sneakers or boots, and have no problem grabbing thirteen hours of shuteye.
Now, I struggle to achieve four or five hours of uninterrupted sleep before I wake with a racing heart and sense of disorientation that feels like I’ve been run over by a linebacker.
It’s worse in this stupid beach house where every noise is unfamiliar and where ten other people that I don’t know very well are slumbering in the rooms around me.
The others have no idea how much time I’ve spent downstairs in the middle of the night, drinking chamomile tea - my doctor's recommendation for a relaxing drink - and staring out at the moonlit sea.
They don’t know all the memories that have flicked through my mind like a reel of doom, while they dream peacefully.
It’s cortisol that wakes me up. I’ve done enough reading to know what surges through my body, making me feel like I could run straight out of my bed and across a desert.
But tonight, when I wake, my heart thuds peacefully, and for a moment, I’m confused. Then I hear a whimpering noise and it becomes clear. Someone is distressed, and that’s what woke me at…
…I check my phone…two am.
The whimper breaks the silence of the night again and I swing my legs off the edge of the mattress, ready to investigate.
Back when I slept with bunks of other men, I got used to hearing them play out their fears in the middle of the night. The brain is a fucked-up thing sometimes.
But I’m not used to hearing a woman’s nighttime turmoil.
The hallway is pitch black and I fumble my way along, using the wall to guide me. Two doors down, Allie’s room is shut tight, but her distressed moans cut through the walls, regardless. I try the handle, confident that if she wanted to remain in total privacy at whatever cost, she’d have bolted it closed from the inside. The door swings open and there she is, hair spread over her pillow, nightgown bunched up around her waist, revealing a sweet pair of white and pink polka dot panties. She moans again, struggling against the sheets that are twisted around her body. I move closer, cautious not to startle her. Kneeling at her bedside, I rest my hand on her shoulder. “Allie. It's okay. You’re having a bad dream. It’s me, Russell. You’re just having a bad dream.”
She shudders awake, her eyes opening and straining into the darkness, finding my face.
“It’s okay,” I say again. “It was just a bad dream.”
Allie still appears to be halfway between dreamworld and reality, treading the line of consciousness, so I shift to sit on the edge of the bed and gather her into my arms.
She smells of warm vanilla and ocean breezes, and sighs contentedly against my collarbone as I hold her.
“I’m sorry,” she says eventually. “For waking you. I just…I don’t know what happened.”
I don’t believe her because when dreams are so close to waking, they’re always recalled easily. But if she doesn’t want to share her fears with me, then that’s okay. I’ve gotten used to holding mine under a concrete slab.
“I don’t sleep well,” I say. “You didn’t disturb me.”
Moonlight streams through her window where the drapes remain open. Allie closes her eyes, so comfortable in my company that she can relax back in her half-sleep without a second thought. There’s no fear that I’ll hurt her or that something evil will come for her in the night.
Hell would freeze over before I’d let anything hurt this sweet girl.
I study her pretty face as her breathing evens out. Long lashes fan shadows across her cheekbones. Soft, round cheeks make her appear younger than she is. Her button nose narrows at the tip and her full lips have a cupid's bow that frays a little at the top. Her hair is the color of horse chestnuts and is just as shiny. She’s pretty in a girl next door kind of way, but with an extra dusting of intelligent sophistication that makes her more intriguing.
With her eyes closed, her warm brown eyes are hidden behind relaxed lids and I miss the light that emanates from her during waking hours.
There’s trouble brewing in this house. I can feel it in my bones. I’m like a barometer for pressure building, and Allie has all the telltale signs of someone teetering on the edge.
Something's wrong with her work and the people there don’t strike me as decent.
Something's wrong with her too. She’s conflicted, but also jumping headlong into this crazy arrangement like a person who has no concern about the consequences.
It’s been hard waiting for my time with her, and also a relief.
