Definition of Black Suit

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Lyla

There had been a noticeable shift in Sebastian, something that left him visibly unsettled, something he couldn't conceal despite his efforts. I tried not to jump to conclusions and assume it was all about me, but I would be lying if I said the thought hadn't crossed my mind.

One step at a time, Lyla... I reminded myself after Tom left and I lay in bed, debating whether to take a sleeping pill. But my thoughts refused to quiet down.

Sebastian had mentioned he was diagnosed with insomnia. Did he have to take a sleeping pill every night? How long had he been taking them? How long would I? Would it be years before my nightmares stopped, or would they never go away? What if I took a pill and it kept me asleep when I wanted to wake up from a nightmare? Did it even work like that, or was I losing my mind?

I began to break into a cold sweat and got out of bed. I went to wash my face with cold water, only to realise I needed to use the bathroom. And so the cycle began.

I would fall asleep within 15 to 30 minutes, only to wake up paranoid that the next time I drifted off, it would be the onset of another nightmare. I'd be sweaty and in need of a refreshing splash of cold water before I could return to bed, all the while calculating that it was now too late to take a sleeping pill because I only had 5... 4... 3... hours left to sleep. This cycle repeated itself over and over.

It was 5 am when I woke up again, frustrated with this broken sleep pattern and my mouth feeling like cotton. I peeked my head out into the hallway.

Dim lights cast a soft, carpeted path, providing just enough illumination to navigate as I made my way to the kitchen. I couldn't find the light switch, but it wasn't necessary. The house was lit just enough for sleepless nights like this.

Rather easily, I found a glass quickly and filled it with tap water, only to spot small bottles neatly lined up in the fridge as I opened the door. I rolled my eyes at that. I wasn't that posh. Still, I wasn't mad to discover some dinner leftovers; as my stomach was rumbling.

But I was distracted enough that I didn't even hear him approaching. Sebastian, wearing earbuds, clearly didn't hear me either, or perhaps he didn't expect to find me in his kitchen at 5 am, nibbling on leftovers. Although I could have bet he wasn't as shocked as I was. To see what stood in the doorway.

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"His body glistened with sweat in the dimly lit room. His jet-black hair hung naturally, free of any products that typically kept it in a tousled style, framing his handsome face. And then there was his physique...

I'd always known Sebastian was well-built, but seeing him shirtless, tattoos gleaming, with no fabric to conceal his chiselled form, left me utterly breathless. He was muscular but not overly bulky or too lean; he had just the right amount of mass, and every inch of him was pure muscle and ink. Ink and muscle. His naturally golden skin lay hidden beneath the intimidating tattoos, and I couldn't help but mutter, "Mother of Gods." Nobody should be allowed to look this good.

I shamelessly gazed at his eight-pack until Sebastian cleared his throat. "You're drooling," he commented, his fists curling at the hem of what had been his black T-shirt, now hanging around his neck.

All I did was nod with a shrug, my eyes now focused on the angry, large scar at the center of his chest. "Well, maybe I'm shallow too," I waved him off. Without thinking, I moved closer, the view of him more distracting than I could have ever imagined. But I kept my attention on that scar.

An enormous 'X', burned and carelessly carved, or perhaps cut and then burned. It was undoubtedly intended to inflict an insane amount of pain, and it rested only inches away from his heart, a constant reminder of something deeply haunting and more harmful than just a physical injury. I reached my hand toward it, and Sebastian took a step back.