Page 26 of Running Feral

I don’t say anything. Only my actions are going to convince him, anyway. Pretty words are worthless.

When the movie finishes, it autoplays onto something else equally horrific. But it’s dark and the volume is low, so I don’t want to risk disturbing whatever equilibrium he’s found. I focus on stroking his back as steadily as I can, and it doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep.

Idiot.

I can’t believe I convinced myself that this would be bad for him.

I don’t fall asleep, but I’m lulled by the steady rise and feel of his chest on mine. Time passes, which I vaguely keep by the movie I’m trying not to look at. I’d put my phone on the counter when I walked in, so I can’t check it.

The first hint of noise coming up the stairs makes my blood run cold, but it only takes me a few seconds to connect the dots. It’s confirmed when I hear the key that I gave Sav turning in the lock.

I completely forgot that I’d asked them to come up. They step inside quietly, although Micah must have had a few more margaritas while he waited because he is visibly swaying, and I can see Sav reaching out to hold him steady.

As soon as they walk around to see both of us on the couch, I’m staring at two sets of raised eyebrows.

I put one finger to my mouth and shake my head.

“Don’t wake him,” I whisper, barely audible. “This is the first time he’s slept in days. Maybe come back tomorrow?”

They don’t speak. They do look at each other, and have some kind of silent communication through eye contact that I can only begin to guess the meaning of. But then Sav shrugs and Micah smiles at him before turning the warm expression to me.

He raises his hand in a silent little wave, and Sav nods at me politely before guiding a very wobbly Micah out of the apartment. I can hear the door close behind them, Sav locking it behind them, and then we’re alone again.

I just need him to sleep. I can worry about the rest of it tomorrow.

Chapter Nine

It’s been so long since I’ve actually slept deeply that waking up feels like climbing out of a tar pit. At first, everything is thick and heavy. Peaceful. Then, my mind comes online a little at a time and realizes that my limbs are weighed down.

This isn’t right. I’m supposed to be light and agile at all times. Ready to flee. This feels like a trap.

My brain is still struggling to shift from asleep to awake, so it feels like my body hits me with an internal defibrillator to kick-start the process. My blood buzzes, my limbs tingle, my heart goes from slow to racing with a lurch, and panic floods every crease and crevice of my brain.

“Whoah.”

I hear his voice, but the part of my mind that processes things like that is still slow, because all the adrenaline went to thefight-fleeportion of my gray matter.

There’s something on me, so I jerk away from it. It tightens its grip, so I jerk harder. The movement is uncoordinated, anexternal repetition of the electric-volt-jumpstart that I just went through internally.

The second jerk obviously does the trick, because I don’t feel trapped anymore. But then pain explodes over the length of my body on one side, including my head, and my eyes open to a bloom of color filling my vision.

It only takes a few seconds for everything to become clear, but those seconds are numbing. I’m lost in time and space, with only this fresh pain to convince me I’m alive.

“Gunnar?”

I can see him hovering over me looking panicked, his hands frozen in mid-air like he was reaching for me and stopped halfway. The room is dimly lit, but not dark. The last thing I remember was him pulling me into his arms sometime in the night. Early in the night, I think.

Then I remember feeling peaceful. Kind of, at least. Peaceful enough that I didn’t have to constantly watch my surroundings.

Now I’m here, and it looks like daytime, so I must have slept for awhile.

“What happened?”

He stares at me, still looking shook. “I’m not sure. You were sleeping, and then it seemed like you woke up and just launched yourself onto the floor. Are you okay?”

I rub my head where I smacked it. It’s throbbing a little, but I’m sure it’ll pass. Slowly, I try to get my hands under me and lever myself upright, internally inspecting myself for damage as I move.

As usual, everything hurts. I may not have been entirely forthcoming with Gunnar about how much Eamon fucked me up this time, because there’s no way he would want to know the gory details. I wouldn’t.

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