Page 80 of Serving the Maestro

It didn’t work.

Roger.

Shuddering, I tried again to push the broken shards of the dream out of my head.

My chest ached as if I’d been struggling to breathe and couldn’t. I didn’t know if it was just a panic reflex or a memory.

The dream...

Sliding out of bed, I hurried into the bathroom and closed the door. After fumbling to get the lights on, I found my robe and wrapped it around me.

I still felt cold, those broken bits of memory still clear.

Dreams usually faded more and more with every passing second after I woke but this wasn’t fading.

I had a bad feeling because it had really happened, and it wasn’t a dream, but memories working free.

Bile rushed up my throat. I fought it back, but the urge to puke was strong. Turning off the lights, I eased the door open.

The shadow looming on the other side made me yelp.

“Hey.”

“Trent...” A harsh breath escaped me, and I groaned, half-collapsing into him when he held out his arms. Eyes burning, I buried my face against his chest. “Did I wake you?”

“The empty bed woke me.” He brushed my hair back from my face. “Are you okay?”

“Nightmare.” I never even considered not telling him. Shivering in reaction to the vivid images, I whispered, “I think it was more of a memory, though. From that night. I was...there. At Roger’s.”

Trent stiffened, and I squeezed my eyes shut.

“Tell me,” he murmured, voice gentle despite the anger I knew was burning inside him.

“It’s not clear.” I clenched my hands, a tight, hot fist clenching in my belly. The trembling got worse, and I fumbled free of Trent’s embrace so I could turn away from him and hit the lights. They flashed too bright, and I winced, instinctively shielding my face as I blinked.

“He held me down,” I said, voice shaking. “I can’t remember everything—I don’t know if I even want to. But he held me down even when I told him to stop. I...he...”

Anger locked my throat, and I spun around, glaring at Trent because there was nobody else to take my anger out on. “He hurt me. I remember that. He hurt me, and he didn’t care.”

Trent came to me. I shoved him back, hands to his chest.

He went still, eyes watchful.

“Should I leave?” he asked quietly.

“No.” Now tears burned my eyes. Flinging myself at him, I wrapped my arms around his neck. “I’m just...angry. I’m so angry. It’s like this rage has been hiding, and now it’s filling me up, and there’s not enough room for it. It’s spilling over, and I can’t stop it.”

“Then let me have it. I can take it.” He fisted a hand in my hair and pressed his brow to mine. “Take it out on me. Let me help.”

“He held me down,” I said again, my voice shaking. “It’s not like...it’s nothing like what we do. But there’s poison inside me, something bad in me. It makes me want to hurt, makes me want to lash out..”

“No.” Trent kissed me, quick, hard. “There’s nothing bad in you. Nothing.”

He was wrong. There was anger, grief, sadness, and too many things that weren’t me and I hated it.

But I couldn’t figure out the words to explain any of that.

“I...Trent, I feel empty.” Eyes burning, I hauled his head closer. “Kiss me. Touch me. Make me forget.”

---