Page 90 of Dark Little Game
Paralyzed in my sleep, and no way out.
I used to suffer with sleep paralysis all of the time when I was younger, but it hasn’t happened in years. A cold fear hits me and suddenly it’s like I can see shadows along the walls, but nothing is right.
I’m trying to open my eyes.
And still nothing is happening.
When I finally wake up I burst into movement, and I can hear that I’ve woken myself up calling out in some sort of half-formed scream.
“Hunter,” Rayne says from across the room, sitting up in his bed, looking over at me.
My heart is racing.
I haven’t felt fear like it in so long.
I thought I wasn’t even capable of feeling fear, anymore.
Embarrassment courses through me on the tail end of fear, and I can feel heat rising in my face and the back of my neck.
“Fuck,” I whisper.
It feels like a gift to be able to move my limbs, my mouth, speak any words at all.
And there’s a tightness in my throat when I look over at Rayne.
His face looks so striking even in the low light coming in through the window. Shadows of the diamond-shaped panes land across his cheek and forehead, and he looks so concerned.
“You started making sounds in your sleep,” Rayne says, pushing away his sheet and propping himself up on one elbow. “I kept thinking it would stop but it only got worse, and then you fuckingjumpedlike you were struck by lightning or something?—”
“I’m fine,” I say, hearing anger in my voice even though I don’t mean for it to be there.
“Sorry,” Rayne says.
I hate this feeling.
Like I’m being pitied.
It’s a hot, shameful feeling, one I’ve hadplentyof in my life, especially after my sister died.
I don’t want anyone feeling concerned for me, worried about me, or the absolute worst: feeling sad for me.
It’s intolerable.
And I sure as fuck don’t want it from Rayne.
I try to calm the beating of my heart. I take a few slow, even breaths, which is a technique that therapists and counselors taught me long ago and is one of the few things that really stuck with me.
When I look over at Rayne again he’s still propped up on his arm, just watching me.
“Quit looking at me with puppy dog eyes,” I mutter at him.
“I’m just checking to make sure you’re not having a fucking panic attack, Hunter.”
We’re both quiet for a minute.
The low hoot of an owl and the steady chirping from the crickets is coming in.
I realize that the window is cracked open a few inches. A cool current of air lands on my hot skin.
