Anchor

Chapter Twenty Three (Part 1)

The rest of the week didn't seem real.

Everything was great. It was like I was in some fictional dreamworld and in the morning, I'd have to go back to my real life.

I lifted my head and stared down at Hayden. My fingers itched to touch him, but he looked so content in sleep that I didn't want to bother him.

So I brushed my fingers over my lips instead. They felt swollen and plump. We'd kissed a lot before he carefully tucked me against his chest, a sweater and a sheet separating our flesh.

We've been kissing a lot. It seemed like that was all we did.

Oh. Well.

We didn't just kiss.

We did other things. Like talk. Touch. Practice my gift. Kiss. Eat. Sleep. Practice my gift some more. And then, every night, he snuck into my room.

Hayden shifted, his arm curling around my hips, pulling me closer. I placed my hands on his chest so I didn't topple right on top of him. Not that I would've minded, but we couldn't go much longer than a couple of minutes when he drained me – as we'd discovered during the week. Which was an improvement over totally almost killing him on spot, but who knew if it was Hayden's gift that had added the additional time?

There was no way to really test it unless I touched someone else.

"Which is out of the question," I murmured, placing my cheek against his chest, where his heart beat.

I closed my eyes and let out a little sigh.

Everything was perfect.

Well, almost perfect.

If only I could get rid of the nagging thought that when things are this perfect, they usually come to an end in one big, messy ball of flames.

*** *** ***

I don't know how I know I'm dreaming, but on some conscious level, I know I am. I know because I'm back at the orphanage, to the night I ran from the orphanage.

My eyes flew open.

Shit.

I was staring at the darkened ceiling of my room. Heart beating fast and breathing hard, I felt disoriented for a while as I collected my bearings and realized I wasn't dreaming anymore, that I was actually looking at my ceiling and not drowning in my own blood with a dagger sticking out of my chest. The knowledge doesn't make my heart beat any slower or my breath come any easier, though.

I eyed the dark designs on the ceiling of my room until looking at them makes me squirm in my bed and feel queasy, like they might come out of it and eat me. It made me uneasy, seeing the shadows traced along the white paint of the ceiling, like monster's hands and teeth were just waiting there to shred me and engulf me in its darkness.

I rolled until I was facing the window instead of the ceiling and then blinked the sleepiness away slowly, watching how the moonlight filtering through the windows and curtains casted patterns along my room, making the furniture stand out stark white against the darkness that consumed the bedroom. I don't know why, but as I remained lying on my bed, looking at the shadows in my room move in rhythm with the wind outside, I felt the need to close my eyes, as if the action of closing them could erase feelings I didn't want to feel or make the images associated with them go away.

I knew it didn't.

After losing Ryssa today and getting slapped by Mr. Miller, I kind of had my plate full with shit to deal with.