Page 42 of Bloom: Part 1

I inhaled his hair, savoring his faintly spicy scent. The scent that was so distinctly Bloom. He felt strangely right in my arms, an odd but welcome warmth against my body. His hand lay on top of mine, our fingers loosely entwined. I stroked the back of his hand with my thumb, drawn to the sensation of his soft skin against mine.

A strange peace washed over me as I gazed at him sleeping. I could savor this moment for tonight, couldn’t I? He could recuperate in his own home. Crowe, the biker who seemed responsible for him, could babysit. It was his job, not mine.

My eyelids grew heavy, and I drifted back into sleep with a piece of heaven masquerading as hell in my arms. And if I felt more relaxed in this big, empty house because of the boy next to me, I pushed it from my mind.

For the second time that night, I was jolted out of my sleep. My arm was no longer around Bloom, who was getting up.

I rubbed my grainy eyes. What now? If he wanted sex, he might get lucky. I was so tired I might not have the willpower to say no to him.

“What is it, Bloom?”

He turned his head enough for me to get a glimpse of the blank stare on his face. His mouth moved as if he was mumbling to himself.

Was he sleepwalking? Bloom never looked at me with such a vacant expression. I climbed out of bed and followed him in case he damaged himself. He walked around the room in a daze, his bare feet padding softly on the carpet. He ignored my presence, lost in his somnambulist haze. I watched him silently as he slowly paced in circles, his barely audible mumblings growing louder.

He jolted and opened the door. I went after him down the hall to the stairs.

“Bloom,” I said softly, trying not to startle him. He didn’t even flinch. His eyes were open, but they were glassy and unperceptive. “Let’s get you back into bed.”

I gently turned him toward the bedroom. He kept walking with me, but once inside, he jerked violently away from my guiding hands. I let him be but locked the door.

I sat on the bed to wait out his episode, watching him so he didn’t hurt himself or get too agitated and hurt his leg again. He fiddled with the knob for a few minutes, then gave up. Muttering incoherently, he moved to another door—the closet—and disappeared inside.

The next minute, a low wail rose, and I rushed to the closet. Bloom had tucked himself into a corner, rocking back and forth while scraping the wall with his nails as if looking for an escape route.

I knew he’d been through a traumatic childhood. His comments about being forced to fight a dog for food had filledme with so much rage and sadness for him. The people who had done that to him deserved to die. No, they deserved to suffer for the rest of their lives for what they’d done to this innocent boy.

“Bloom, it’s me, Logan.” I couldn’t leave him in the closet, and I had work tomorrow. I needed to get a good night’s rest. Not that that was possible anymore, but any amount of sleep would do at this point.

Each time I urged him to his feet, his agitation grew worse.

“Bloom—” I touched his cheek. “Can you hear me?”

He snarled at me, hissing like a wild animal, and sank his teeth into my hand.

“Fuck.”

Blood seeped out of the punctured skin. His grip was unwavering.

“Bloom, let go. It’s me, Logan.”

I used my other hand to squeeze his jaw, hating the idea of hurting him, but if he didn’t let go, I might be missing a whole hand soon. I increased the pressure, and he screamed, an inhuman sound that startled me. I snatched my hand back. Tears spilled down his cheeks, and he returned to clawing at the wall, sobbing.

I grabbed a tie from the hanger and wrapped it around the wound in my hand tightly. This time I knew better than to touch him.

“Bloom, are you looking for a way out? There’s one right here.”

But he ignored me. I sighed. All I could do was make him comfortable and ensure he didn’t hurt himself. We were in for a long night.

11

BLOOM

As soon as I woke up, I knew I’d had an episode of night terror. My body felt drained, my throat was scratchy, and my eyes burned. My face was sticky as if I’d been crying, and fuck, my nails hurt. I opened my eyes and brought my hands up. My nails were chipped, and a few had bled.

Where am I?

I sat up, my body stiff from the unfamiliar, cramped space. I’d found a closet this time. One that was empty of clothes. A thick comforter lay beneath me, providing a soft place between me and the floor. Another lighter blanket lay over me, and pillows buffeted me on either side.

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