Page 70 of The Mourning Throne
And the Not-Lex.
This had already happened.
“Which one of us do you think about more, Morgan?” Not-Lex asked. Sweet and soft, too childish for all the gore.
Morgan opened his mouth—thought against it. He didn’t want to know what would happen if he spoke. Didn’t want to be trapped in this loop for the rest of eternity.
This wasn’t his reality. This wasn’t reality at all.
Finally—blessedly—he heard the ticking.
A clock, somewhere behind his ribs. Loud. Heavy. Real.
Morgan jolted upright in bed.
Breathe.
You remember how to breathe.
He did. Of course he did. He knew the mechanics better than anyone. Inhale through the nose. Air into lungs. Expand the diaphragm. Exhale. Repeat.
Simple.Biological. A function every infant could master within seconds of being born.
His body didn’t listen.
It never had.
Oxygen rushed in too fast. Caught in his throat. Choked him. His spine arched forward as if that would help, a hand pressed against his stomach like he could push the air out through force alone.
The edges of his vision tightened. Then flared.
That one… that one had lasted too long. Longer than any of the others.
He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, dragging them down his face. Sweat clung to every inch of him. His throat. His back. His chest. The pillow was soaked. Sheets damp beneath him. Shirt stuck to his skin like it had melted there.
He’d have to launder all of it. Strip the bed. Wash it twice.
Lex’s hand landed on his thigh.
The comforter moved—kicked aside too hard—and then Lex’s arms were around his waist, blond head pressed into his collarbone.
“It’s okay,” he mumbled, half-asleep and barely audible. “You’re okay.”
Morgan leaned back against the headboard. Closed his eyes.
Hewasalright now.
The world was back to the right shape, the right texture.
Smells and sound existed in tandem here. Sweat and detergent. Lemon cleaner from the bathroom. The slow in and out of Lex’s breath against his chest, arms loosening.
The old grandfather clock in the corner of the room read3:52a.m.
He could go back to sleep for an hour.
One hour.
But every time he shut his eyes, he saw them again. Heard the Not-Lex asking the same question, over and over.
