Collared(24)

I smile back, the same kind. “Okay.”

I roll a little more onto my side so I’m facing him. With the way his head’s resting on the rail, it hides his collar. For a moment, I let myself believe that nothing has changed and he’s the same boy who asked me to marry him . . . someday . . . one day . . . barefoot and grinning.

I let myself get carried away by that moment. I let myself feel the only joy I’ve felt in ten years. I let myself feel it . . . then I take an imaginary pin and pop it.

That life died the night I died to the world. That life is gone.

My eyes drop to our combined hands, and I wonder if I should pull away. I wonder if pulling away now instead of later would be easier because I’m not sure I can be friends with the man I once loved. I think doing so would be like dying again every day.

I should pull away.

But I can’t.

“Is this okay?” he asks when he notices me staring at our hands. “Me . . . touching you?”

The way he says it makes me think someone warned him about what happened earlier with my family.

My fingers tighten around his. “This is okay.”

His smile stays in place. “Good.”

He doesn’t say anything after that. He doesn’t seem to move. He just sits there, holding my hand and staying watch for whatever we’re both afraid will come at us next.

Just before sleep is about to pull me under again, I whisper his name.

“Yeah?” His voice doesn’t sound sleepy like mine. It sounds the opposite.

“Are you really a priest?”

A soft chuckle vibrates in his chest. It’s the single best sound I’ve heard in a decade. “I really am.”

I curl deeper into my pillow. “Why?”

His exhale comes out sounding like he still holds the weight of the world on his back. “Sleep.” His thumb skims down the side of my hand. “We’ve got time to go over all the whys and whats. Just rest.”

For one short second, my eyes open, and I see a look on his face that makes my throat tighten. His head isn’t on the bedrail anymore, but it’s still close. I can see his collar now though. In the darkness, that square of white is almost blinding.

The last thought I have is wondering if his collar feels as confining to him as mine did to me—keeping him from the people he loves and the life he wants to live.

“I missed you, Torrin,” I whisper.

I’m more asleep than awake when I hear him exhale. “I miss you, Jade.”





I CAN’T WAKE up. I know I’m having a nightmare, but it won’t let me go. It won’t let me surface from it. The more I fight, the tighter it binds around me, strangling me.

My neck. It’s rope instead of metal, but it’s twisted around my neck, constricting tighter and tighter with every step I make to wake up. I rip at the rope, trying to tear it away, but I’m helpless against its pull.

Jade.

A voice creeps through the fog of the nightmare.

You’re safe. It’s okay.

The voice keeps whispering to me until the black shell hardened around me cracks and I see the faintest dot of light.

Wake up. You’re safe.

The dot spreads into a hairline crack. More light creeps in, blanketing me. The rope around me loosens.

“Wake up, Jade. I’m here.”

The dark shell shatters, and light floods in.

I wake up like I’m drowning, gasping for air and clinging to whatever life raft I can grab hold of. The closest thing to keep me from falling back under is Torrin’s arm.

He’s leaning over me with an anxious look on his face. He doesn’t move. He just stands there, letting me cling to him until I feel like I can let go.

“It was just a dream. It’s okay.” He looks a little pale, like he was crawling through that hell with me.

“Just a dream,” I repeat to myself and force my fingers to loosen before I cut off the circulation in his arm.

I’m coated in sweat? and my blankets and sheets are twisted like a tornado around my legs. It’s light outside, and from the looks of the shadows hugging Torrin’s eyes, he didn’t sleep at all.

“What time is it?” I ask as I release his arm. I’ve left angry red marks on his skin.

If he notices, he doesn’t show it. He just stays beside me, unwinding the twists binding my legs, one at a time, until I’m free.

“Almost nine o’clock.” He doesn’t look at the clock.

“I slept that long?” I sit up to check the clock on the wall. I have to blink my eyes awake a few times before I can read it. Even then, the numbers are a little foggy.

“Yeah, mostly.” He smooths the blankets over my legs now that they’re fixed. “Except for the few times you did . . . what you just did.”

“But I didn’t wake up?” I can’t remember any of the nightmares except for the last one. It’s a small mercy I’m happy to accept.

“No, I just gave you my arm to cling to each time, and you calmed down.” He twists his right arm to check it out. “Remind me to don armor the next time I agree to sit bedside vigil.”

There are scratches, welts, and what looks like the start of bruises on his arm. I never would have guessed the kind of strength necessary to inflict that kind of damage was left inside me. “God, Torrin, I’m sorry. You should have just let me scream and flail. I’m used to it.”