Driven(book one)(120)

I’m starting to get cold. I look over at the artfully sculpted lines of Colton’s back and I turn into him, tucking my body around him so that I can enjoy the feeling of my bare skin against his. My chin rests on his shoulder and my breasts pillow against his back as I curl my arms around him, comforted by his masculinity. I absently run my fingers across his chest as I slowly sink back into sleep.

I’m in that suspended state of the first stages of slumber when all of the sudden several things happen simultaneously and what seems to be in slow motion. Colton emits the most gut-wrenching, feral cry I’ve ever heard. I would’ve remained frozen in shock but he bucks his body violently back against me, connecting his elbow against my shoulder. “No!” falls from his mouth in a strangled shout. He jumps from the bed and turns around, legs spread, knees bowed, arms bent, and hands fisted in front of his face. His face is the picture of terror: eyes wild and haunted, flickering constantly, teeth clenched, and tendons straining in his neck. His chest heaves shallow breaths, body tense and vibrating with acute awareness as sweat beads on his forehead.

I instinctively grab my shoulder where it is smarting with pain. The shock of what just happened sinking in, my adrenaline pumping now so that my body shakes from its effects. If I hadn’t seen this kind of reaction from a nightmare before from some of my kids, I think I would be more startled and unsure than I am right now. If Colton didn’t have such a look of complete fear in his eyes and reflected on his face, I would have laughed at him standing nude, looking like he’s ready to throw down. But I know this isn’t a joke. I understand that Colton has had a dream dredging up the past that silently chases him and continues to traumatize him on a daily basis.

I roll my shoulder, the ache still present. “Colton,” I say evenly, not wanting to startle to him.

At my words I can see his eyes slowly come into focus at the room before him and the tension in his stance slowly abates. He turns his head and looks at me, a plethora of emotions in his eyes: embarrassment, shame, relief, fear, and apprehension. “Oh, f*ck!” He shudders a breath, bringing his hands up to rub the fear from his face. The only sounds in the room are his heaving breaths, hand chafing over his stubble, and the ocean outside.

“Fuuuccckkk!” he repeats again, his eyes narrowing on my hand rubbing my shoulder. I can see him clench and unclench his fists as he realizes he’s hurt me somehow. I remain still as his eyes lower and his shoulders slouch. “Rylee—I—” he turns abruptly and grabs the back of his neck with his hand, pulling down. “Give me a f*cking minute,” he mutters as he quickly strides into the bathroom.

I gather the sheets up to my chest and watch him leave, wanting to reach out to him and tell him things he doesn’t believe or want to hear about what just happened. I sit there in indecision of what to do next when I hear the unmistakable sound of Colton vomiting. A knife twists deep down in my gut, and I squeeze my eyes shut, wanting desperately to comfort him.

The toilet flushes followed by a muttered curse and then I hear the faucet turn on and the brushing of teeth. I rise from the bed, sliding Colton’s shirt on when I hear him sigh again with his favored curse of the morning. I enter the bathroom, needing to make sure he is okay. I know he notes my presence for he stops the hand towel in mid-motion to his face when he senses me. We stand there frozen momentarily as he focuses on the water running from the faucet. His angst is palpable and smothers the air between us. Colton scrubs the towel over his face and turns toward me.

When he drops the towel from his face, the eyes that stare back at me are not his. The ones I’ve come to love. They are dead. Cold. Devoid of emotion. The muscle in his jaw pulses and the cords in his neck strain as he works his throat.

“Colton…” His glazed green eyes glare intently on mine causing any more words I’d planned to say falter on my lips.

“Don’t, Rylee,” he warns. “You need to leave.” His command is flat. As lifeless as his eyes.

My heart lurches into my chest. What happened to him? What memory has reduced this vibrant, passionate man to nothing. “Colton,” I plead.

“Go, Rylee. I don’t want you here.”

My bottom lip trembles at his words for he can’t possibly mean them after the evening we’ve just shared. I saw the emotion in his eyes last night. Felt from his actions how he feels about me. But now … all I can do is stare at him, the man before me unrecognizable.

The pain and fear before when he awoke from his dream was so obvious that all I wanted to do was to comfort him. Now I’m not quite sure what to do. I take a step forward and I hear his teeth grind in reaction. I’ve worked with traumatized children but I am way out of my element here. I look down at my clasped hands and whisper brokenly, “I just want to help.”

“Get out!” he roars causing my head to snap up in time to see his dead eyes spark to life with unfiltered anger. “Get the f*ck out, Rylee! I don’t want you here! Don’t need you here!”

I stand there frozen, his unprovoked anger immobilizing me. “You don’t mean that,” I stutter.

“Like hell I don’t!” he yells, the sound echoing off of the stone tiles and reverberating. Our eyes hold in silence as I process the hurt he’s spewing. In the back of my mind I know there’s a reason for this—for his actions—but my mind is so jumbled with the hurt and shock from his venom that I can’t rationally process anything. Colton takes a threatening step toward me and I just stare at him shaking my head. He throws the towel with a curse, the clatter of bottles it knocks over ricocheting around the pin-drop quiet bathroom. His eyes angle back toward mine as he clenches and unclenches his jaw. When he speaks, his voice is chillingly cruel. “I’ve f*cked you, Rylee, and now I’m done with you! I told you that’s all I was good for, sweetheart…”