The Nightmare Daze

31. Crossroads

"A collection of Washington Irving stories," I murmur, knowing the name will mean nothing to him. I've seen the way he looks at these books, like they are unfamiliar creatures that might bite. "Isabel brought them for me."

"Where'd she get them?"

"Elijah."

He stares for a long moment, then breaks into a dark smile. "That woman knows how to play with fire."

"What do you mean?"

He settles onto the bed next to me, eyes scanning up and down the pages of the open book without absorbing any of the words. "She has both Benjamin and Elijah at her heels. I don't know if that makes her stupid or brilliant."

"You know," I try, "You could tell Benjamin to stay away from her. He'd listen to you."

"He might."

"She doesn't know who she's dealing with."

"She'll find out soon enough."

I smooth a hand across his forearm, and the dark smile returns. "Levi," I say gently. "Please don't let him hurt her."

"It isn't up to me, Florence." And then he presses his lips against my temple, gently, slowly, like he's trying it out for the first time. "You really hate him, don't you."

"He's a monster."

I bite my lip as the words slip out. The implication is clear, and by the way Levi leans slightly away from me, I can tell he's mulling it over.

"Am I monster to you too?" His fingers slip up my arm, turning me to him. He isn't angry though, as if he already knows how I'll respond. I want to tell him that he is the worst kind of monster that I've ever known, but I don't know if that's true anymore. I don't fear him anymore like I once did, not like you're supposed to fear monsters. There is a fictional horror to the word, and Levi is very, very real.

"No," I manage. It isn't a lie, but it doesn't quite capture the truth, either. "Not anymore."

I watch his jaw tense at the beginning of a question, but he looks away. And then he pushes himself back on the bed and folds his arms beneath his neck.

"Will you read to me?"

There's an earnestness in his eye, as if he's afraid I'll tell him no. But I know the part that I'm meant to play, and so I settle back into the bed next to him and prop my book against my knees. While I read, I can feel his eyes wandering my face, and then he closes them altogether and his face adopts the serene, boyish look that he always has in sleep. It seems to smooth the scar on his cheek, soften the hard set of his lip. His face has become so familiar to me—the variations in his expression, the cut of his jaw, the feeling of lips brushing over mine. Owning this knowledge is strangely like owning a piece of him, as if he's now beholden to me, and I to him. And I know it isn't the same; I know the horror that has forced this intimacy. But it helps, in a small way, to have something of him as well.

Footstep travel down the hall and near the door, and for a moment muddled voices can be heard through the wood. Wordlessly, Levi opens his eyes and sits up, shoulders tense as he watches the door.

"Levi?" I whisper, setting the book in my lap. The look on his face sets my nerves on edge, and I can only watch him as we both strain to listen to the voices outside. And then they move along and the hall is quiet once again, and Levi lets out breath.

I don't stop to consider the impulse that makes me reach for him. When my fingers touch his shoulder, his hard gaze nearly makes me pull away.

"You came back early because you were worried."