Page 137 of Fight or Flight
Pulling my hoodie off, I go over to his desk so I can wheel his chair over to the side of his bed. When it’s in position, I settle in it so I can keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn’t take a turn for the worse while he’s sleeping.
A rustling from Shane’s bed pulls my attention away from the article I’m reading, and I look up from my phone.
He hasn’t moved much since he fell asleep, and I watch as he rolls onto his back, then flops back onto his side. Instead of the calm, peaceful expression he’s had for the past few hours, his face is scrunched up, and his breathing has gone from steady and deep to shallow and ragged.
I turn off my phone screen and tuck it in my pocket. Is he having a bad dream?
A soft moan filters through the room, then a whimper, followed by a loud sniff.
Leaning forward, I look closer at him.
His cheeks are wet.
He’s crying in his sleep, but it’s not the type of crying that comes with violent sobs. This is the quiet kind people do when they’re used to hiding their tears.
Leaning back in my chair, I watch as he continues to roll around in near silence. Should I wake him up? He’s obviously having some sort of nightmare, but will waking him make things worse because then he’ll have to think about what he was dreaming about?
The Percs should be wearing off soon, and the booze is working its way out of his system. Whatever is going on could be from a rough comedown after a bad high, but considering why he got so fucked up in the first place, this might just be his trauma coming back to the surface and haunting him when his defenses are down.
I’m saved from having to decide what to do when he makes a choked sound, then starts thrashing around so violently he gets tangled up in his sheets, which just makes his fight harder as he lets out panicked, gurgling cries.
I’m out of my chair and beside his bed before I’ve even made the decision to move, and I gently grab him by the shoulders to give him a quick shake.
His eyes fly open, but he doesn’t stop fighting as he gasps and cries out, his unseeing eyes fixed on a spot over my shoulder.
“You’re okay,” I tell him. “You’re safe.”
His eyes meet mine, and he stops fighting as a look of relief washes over him.
“Jace?” he croaks.
“It’s me.”
All the energy seems to drain out of him, and he sinks back against his mattress as he blinks up at me, his eyes slowly going from glassy and unseeing to dazed and a little unfocused.
“You’re okay.” I let go of his shoulders and stand back up now that he’s settled again.
He reaches for me with a shaking hand and grabs my wrist, his grip way harder than I expected, considering the state he’s in. “Don’t go.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I tell him softly.
“Don’t leave me.” He grips my wrist tighter.
“I won’t.”
He pulls on my arm, and I let him tug me down until I’m sitting on the bed next to him.
“Stay. Please.”
“I will.” I point to the chair I put next to his bed. “I’ll be right there. I promise I won’t leave.”
He shakes his head and tucks my arm against his chest so he can hug it like a teddy bear, forcing me to lean down until I’m almost lying on the bed with him.
“Stay,” he says on a soft sigh and nuzzles my arm with his cheek. “Please. Don’t wanna be alone.”
I could just pry my arm away from him and wait until he falls back asleep, but that feels wrong.
And that’s fucking weird.
