Page 32 of Sinful Skulls
My hand rubs lightly over the small of her back while the other brushes over her arm. I lay my cheek against the top of her head. Finally, she’s back where she belongs.
We don’t talk. I don’t want to stimulate her in any way. I want her to sleep. There is nothing worse than insomnia. I’m not sure how long she’s been awake, but the frenzied state I found her in tells me it’s been days since she slept.
Her breath evens to a slow, steady pace, and minutes later she’s snoring lightly.
I’m not sure if she’s previously suffered from insomnia or if something triggered it. I don’t know any of that, but what I do know is I’m the cure. I’ll never let her suffer alone like that ever again.
Even if that means I’ll be living in Paris for the next year.
My mind begins to wander, and suddenly I’m envisioning picking up pastries for her on a busy Parisian street on a random Tuesday.
I’m sure the club will understand.
Chapter Thirteen
Daisy
My eyes blink slowly, and I rub my temples. Waking up with a headache is the worst. I’m struggling to keep my lids open when a bottle of water is thrust in my face.
“Here, drink this,” a gruff voice orders.
I sit up quickly, pulling the blanket over my chest. “Brody?” My gaze hurries around the room.Where am I?
Suddenly, it all comes rushing back in bits and pieces.
He waits patiently for me to pull myself together.
“Oh my gosh, Brody. I’m so sorry about all of this.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” He reaches out and tucks my hair behind my ear. “I’ve enjoyed watching you sleep for the past two days.”
My eyes widen. “Two days!?”
He joins me in a sitting position, placing his hand on my shoulder. “Daisy, it’s okay. You told me you couldn’t sleep.”
I glance around the room again, still a bit confused. “I couldn’t sleep?”
“You were exhausted, baby.”
“I’m in Reno,” I say out loud as everything starts coming back to me.
Brody nods and tips the bottle of water to my mouth. Then, he pulls his phone from his pocket. “What sounds good? You’ll feel better once we get some food in you.”
“Something greasy,” I say, climbing from the bed to make sure my mother’s portrait is still tucked away safely in the bottom of my bag.
His fingers tap over his screen, but his eyes continuously assess me. I’m such an idiot. Why did I invite him here? But I can’t really regret it, can I? He was the only reason I was able to fall asleep. He saved me from slowly losing my mind.
“Um, I’m just going to clean up a little,” I say, slinging my bag over my shoulder and heading into the bathroom.
His gaze follows me, but he remains quiet.
When I’m in the bathroom, I turn the water on in the sink and then slide to the floor. I drop my head against the door. How much am I going to share with him? He’s going to wonder why I’m not in Paris.
I pull my mother’s portrait out of my bag. There’s no way I can show him this … it’s too unbelievable … too morbid.
A shiver runs up my spine, but I can push it out of my mind. Of course I can. I’ll tell him the truth. I mean, I’m not going to lie to him, but I’ll leave this part of the story out. My fingers hover over the painting.
I wrap it in a t-shirt and shove it back to the bottom of the bag.
