Page 13 of Veiled Yearning

Heart pounding out of my chest, I burst into Chiara’s room, expecting the worst. A Custodian hurting her. Using a terrible and brutal ability to incapacitate her. Or even… no. They want her alive—

But it’s none of those things.

It’s just Chiara, tangled in the covers, hunched into herself, sobbing. Face wet with tears, her features taut with pain. Between cries, she makes these terrified little sounds, and every few seconds her entire body twitches, like she’s being struck by something.

As she suffers through her nightmare, I’m struck with indecision. Do I leave her alone? We’re not close, not friends; would she want me seeing her like this? Or do I try to comfort her, even though I’m not sure exactly how?

Another moan, and this time she whispers, “I won’t. You can’t make me.”

And the combination of admiration and sympathy makes my decision for me. I crouch by the bed, putting my head level with hers, and say her name quietly. Then a little louder, “Chiara. Wake up. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

I have to say it a few more times before she jerks awake, gasping. Her eyes are huge and scared, and for a moment, it’s clear she doesn’t recognize me. Chiara’s still caught in her nightmare, seeing whoever was torturing her instead.

So I pitch my voice low, and hopefully soothing—I’m not the comforting one, but I’ll do my best—and say, “You’re okay. It’s just me, Gavril, you’re in your cabin, you’re safe.”

There’s a little tug, like a magnet pulling at something inside me. It’s strange, disconcerting; but it’s gone as quickly as it started. Recognition flares in Chiara’s eyes, and she lets out a little yelp of dismay. Scuttling backwards on the mattress, she presses against the headboard and stares at me in horror.

A sliver of hurt digs into me, which I’m not expecting.

But I was honestly trying to help. Did my actions from earlier make Chiara hate me this much? Am I that terrifying?

“I’m sorry,” I start, as I stand and slowly back away from the bed. “You were having a nightmare. I thought… Well. I wasn’t trying to scare you. I thought if I could wake you up…”

What was I thinking? Trying to comfort her? Me? The one who sent Chiara fleeing from her house in a snowstorm?

“No. I’m—” Chiara wraps her arms around her legs and rests her chin on her knees. Her eyes are still big and glassy with tears, and she gnaws on her lower lip for a moment before continuing. “You didn’t scare me. It was the nightmare. And I… I scared myself.”

Scared herself how?

But I don’t ask her that, instead asking, “Are you okay? Do you need anything?” Which is kind of a ridiculous thing to say, considering this is her home, but I’m way out of my comfort zone right now.

“I’m okay.” She dips her head to stare at the blanket, her hair falling in thick curtains around her face. Quietly, she adds, “I’m sorry. I probably woke you up.”

“No, you didn’t.” I’m frozen halfway across the bedroom, torn between wanting to escape back to the living room and staying here with Chiara. I should make a fast retreat, but there’s a part of me that’s reluctant to leave her. A part that wants to make her feel better, to take away that sad look on her face.

“I—” Her gaze comes up to meet mine, and in a whisper, her next words come out in a rush. “It’s embarrassing. Knowing you heard me like that.”

“What?” I take a step back toward the bed. “Having a nightmare isn’t embarrassing.”

“Isn’t it?” Pink infuses her cheeks. “Screaming in my sleep? Letting my memories get the best of me? I’m not supposed to be weak. I should be strong enough to handle it.”

Something is happening in my chest. This sort of wrenching ache, unlike anything I’ve felt before.

Before I can think about it, I find myself back at the side of Chiara’s bed. Voice going rough, I tell her, “It’s not weak to have nightmares. Trust me.”

Her eyes shift from me to the end of her bed, lingering there for a second. I’m not sure if she’s giving me permission to sit down, but it seems like it, so I perch carefully at the foot of the mattress, ready to move if she tells me to. But she doesn’t, instead leaning toward me and asking softly, “Do you have nightmares?”

“Yes.” Aside from Frederick, I’ve never told anyone this before. Not because I’m ashamed, but it wasn’t something that involved the Sentinels, so I never mentioned it. But Chiara seems so vulnerable, and the way she’s gazing at me like I’m a friend instead of an enemy…

“I dream about the visions. Especially the really bad ones.” Like the ones when I see my friends being killed. And the ones I’m too late to change.

“Oh, Gavril.” Sympathy softens her tone. “I didn’t think…”

“I can block them out during the day,” I explain. “It’s like they’re all tucked away in a box, and I can pull the memory of one out when I need it. But when I’m sleeping, the box opens and anything can escape.”

“That must be so hard. I never considered…” She pauses, her brow creasing. “To have all those images in your head. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Not really, but there’s nothing I can do about it. The visions come whether I want them to, or not. The only thing I can decide is how to handle them.

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