Page 140 of Priest and his Anarchist

“I can hear things.”

I almost laugh. Almost. I didn’t because she’s not funny. She’s fucking annoying, and was seconds away from waking Vaden. He needed his sleep, or he’d be hell to deal with tomorrow.

“Can you hear me when I tell you to shut the fuck up and go to sleep?”

The cabin had twelve bedrooms, but oh no. Our parents had to build one large enough to fit bunk beds into every wall.

“But they’re loud,” she whispered again as if trying to make a point. I didn’t have the patience to tell her she’s imagining things or that she was pure fucking madness. What did she mean she could hear things? Hopefully it was Darling coming back to me.

“Can I sleep with you?”

I turned to her, the disgust lifting my lip in a snarl. “Fuck no!”

“Why not!” she snapped, and it was the first time I’d ever heard her give even a hint of attitude.

It caught my tongue a moment. “Because I don’t want to.”

She huffed. “Because you’re afraid?”

“Afraid of what?” I couldn’t believe her! Why the fuck would I be scared of little her. The fragile one that would snap beneath my hand and go crying to mommy and her daddies that the bad kid hurt her. She hadn’t done that, but I’d imagined it vividly enough to feel real.

Her lilac-gray eyes searched mine, the glow from the full moon spreading enough through the window.

“The voices,” she whispered, her words weighed down.

I squeezed my eyes closed. Please go to sleep. Fuck.

“Priest…”

“Ugh!” I tore off the cover, cool air whisking over my skin. “Get the fuck in and shut the fuck up.”

She didn’t hesitate, as if my hostility didn’t bother her. Her tiny legs swung over the side of the bed as she pattered the small distance between both bunk beds and slid beneath the cover. As soon as her little body pressed against mine, I regretted every decision that led me to this point. Her skin was warm—too warm—but that wasn’t what I felt when her small body tucked into mine.

I felt.

That was the most disturbing thing of all.

I fucking felt. Something.

I’d been told all my life that I was emotionless. When my sister grazed her knee, I didn’t care.

When my mother was in a car wreck, I didn’t care.

Pop fought for me by saying that it was because in my subconscious I knew that neither of the incidents warranted me to care, since they were so small, but I wasn’t so sure. I never second-guessed them. I felt numb. I felt nothing. An empty void and a heartbeat that barely wanted to beat.

But the second she lay her head down, the perfume of her hair staining my pillow, the smooth touch of her skin grazing mine, and finally, her panted breath against the skin of my arm….

I felt something.

Motionless, locked in a cage of denial and avoidance, I remained still. I could barely move, because every damn breath I took burned my lungs. Minutes passed. Hours maybe. When Icouldn’t keep the heaviness of my arm up, or my eyes open, I fell into a deep sleep.

I fell into a sleep so deep, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to come back from.

“What is it? Where’d you go just now?” Pop asks from the other side of the room.

“Luna, just something she said when we were kids.”

Pop’s hesitation has me looking up at him. “And what was that, exactly?” His steps draw close.

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