Does It Hurt? (33)

Getting comfortable—or attempting to—I close my eyes, praying that when I awake, I'll be anywhere but here.



Something heavy smacks into the side of my head, knocking me out of the nightmare I was having and thrusting me into another.

I'm instantly reminded that I'm trapped on a near-abandoned island with two strangers. One of them hates me, and is currently deep in the clutches of a brain demon. That's what my mom used to call nightmares when I was young, and I haven't been able to think of them any other way.

I sit up, trying to figure out the best way to wake him, when a disturbing noise distracts me.

There's something right outside our door.

An eerie feeling cascades over me when the sound becomes more apparent. Chains. The clanging of metal chains, and them dragging slowly across the wooden floor. It reminds me of the sound of a dangerous prison inmate pacing back and forth.

My brow pinches, and uneasiness soaks the stale air. Whatever is outside feels sinister, its malevolence bleeding through the cracks in the door and reaching toward me, daring me to take its hand.

I inhale sharply, holding my breath as the dragging chains slowly fade. Just as I begin to relax, another heavy limb whips in my direction.

I yelp, just barely dodging the blow. From the flying limbs to the terrifying sound, my heart is pounding against my chest.

A low moan is building in the base of Enzo's throat. It's hard to see much, but the moonlight cutting through the window accentuates the pained look on his face.

“Enzo,” I call. My voice wobbles, still shaken by the creepy prisoner in the hallway.

He groans again, but I don't dare touch him. I know enough about nightmares to know how easy it is to go into attack mode when you're convinced that you're still in the middle of it.

He thrashes his head to the side, imprisoned by his own mind.

“Enzo,” I call again, louder this time. When he still doesn't wake, I gather enough bravery to nudge him.

I don't remember him having nightmares the night I stayed with him, but to be fair, by the time we actually went to bed, we were both exhausted and knocked out cold. Even my demons remained in the darkness.

Still, his dreams keep him trapped. Instead of risking getting clobbered, I slip my hand into his and thread our fingers together.

I don't know what I'm doing or why I'm doing it, but I can't seem to convince myself to let go. Especially as his pumping chest slowly calms and his twisted features begin to gradually relax.

As his anxiety eases, mine heightens. The reality of my situation is sinking in now that I'm left alone with my thoughts.

Up until this moment, I was able to distract myself from what was happening, never allowing myself to dwell on the storm and how fucking traumatizing it was. How disorienting it was to wake in the middle of the ocean, the sun quickly setting, and Enzo floating nearby, head bleeding and knocked unconscious. I hadn't let myself think about how he had just taunted sharks with my bloody lip, and seeing his injuries sent me into a tailspin, convinced the sharks were going to come back, intent on getting the meal they were previously denied.

He doesn't know the terror that was coursing through my system as I swam to him instead of away from him, scared for my own life yet only thinking of his.

I'll never tell him how relieved I was when I checked his pulse and felt how strong it was. Or how I immediately burst into tears when I saw a bright light in the distance, nor about how I swam the both of us there, only a piece of wood to keep us afloat. How exhausting it was. How many times I almost gave up, his weight too much for me, but my determination heavier. How much I cried. And how I refused to let him go.

How my heart cracked when he woke and looked so disappointed that I was alive.

Tears well in my eyes, and my chest tightens. The cracks yawn until a crater forms. A sob escapes, and I slap my free hand over my mouth, quickly looking to Enzo to make sure he's still asleep. But once my stare lands on him, I can't take my eyes away. His image blurs as rivers continue to fall down my cheeks.

For the first time in six years, I have nowhere to run. I'm well and truly trapped. The more this new reality sets in, the more the panic begins to take over.

God, what would Kev say now?

You're smarter than this, pipsqueak, and now look at what you've done. I told you men were bad for you. That's why you only need me.

I squeeze Enzo's hand harder, now seeking comfort from the man with a frosted heart rather than giving it. He's the last person I should be seeking anything from. But as much as I hate him for getting us into this situation—something that could've been avoided if he had only looked at the forecast—I hate myself more. Because at the end of the day, none of this would've happened if I wasn't such a shit person and left him alone.

We're in a terrible situation, but even though Sylvester makes my skin crawl, it's better than being out in that cold, lonely ocean. It's better than being dead.

At least, I think it is.

Enzo's hand flexes, so I quickly pull from his grip before he catches me. Frantically wiping the tears from my cheeks, I manage to gather myself right as his eyes open.

“What are you doing?” he asks, voice raspy and causing my lower stomach to clench. Even half asleep, his tone is cold and hard, yet the most enticing sound I've ever heard.

Clearing my throat, I clip, “Couldn't sleep.”