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┌──── •✧• ────┐ "I'm breaking up with you." └──── •✧• ────┘
As soon as Valentina laid down on Henry's bed that night, she was out cold. She slept deeply, the exhaustion from her ordeal allowing her no room for dreams or restlessness. She was curled into Henry's side, her breathing steady. The comfort of the boy's presence seemed to envelop her in a cocoon of safety and warmth.
Henry remained awake for a while, watching over her. There was a protective quality in his gaze, as his eyes traced the contours of her face, taking in the fact that she was here, safe.
Eventually, the toll of the day caught up with Henry as well, and he drifted off to sleep, his arm instinctively wrapped around Valentina as he laid on his back. Even in his sleep, there was a sense of guarding about him, as if even his subconscious knew the importance of her safety.
The night passed rather uneventfully, the moon tracing its arc across the sky while the two of them remained in their peaceful slumber. The tension and fear that had gripped them earlier seemed to dissolve, at least until Henry had a nightmare.
It was around three in the morning, and Henry suddenly jerked awake, a gasp escaping his lips as the remnants of his nightmare clung to him. He was breathing heavily, his heart racing.
He had relived the events of the night in the storage unit, except this time, her kidnapper, Marcus, pointed his gun at Valentina. He ran to stop him, but his feet were glued to the floor. He was forced to watch as the shot rang out, her body slumping to the ground.
This vivid, haunting dream shook Henry to his core. He sat in the dark, trying to steady his breathing, his eyes fixated on Valentina's peaceful form. The contrast between the tranquility of the room and the terror of his nightmare was jarring.
Gently, almost instinctively, he reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from her face, reassuring himself of her safety. The mere touch seemed to anchor him back to reality, away from the horrors of his dream.
After a moment, he quietly slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Valentina. His feet padded softly across the floor as he made his way to the kitchen. The coolness of the night air brushed against his skin, helping to clear his mind.
In the kitchen, he poured himself a glass of water, his hands slightly trembling. He leaned against the counter, taking slow sips, trying to calm the lingering adrenaline. The quiet of the house, usually comforting, now echoed with the remnants of his nightmare.
Henry knew that these nightmares were a result of the stress and trauma they had all been through. He understood that it was his mind's way of processing and coping with the events. But knowing this didn't make the dreams any less real or terrifying in the moment.
