Page 73 of Oblivion

“Got it.”

“Hey.” The careful tone pulled my attention up.

His expression held unusual apprehension, and his genuine unease stopped my fussing with the top fold.

“Yeah?”

He swallowed and frowned. “Since you’re staying for a while, there’s something you need to know. Something that might frighten you.”

My heart dropped. The comment reminded me that we were nothing but strangers.

“Okay, now you’re scaring me.”

“Please, don’t be scared. Let’s finish up here and then chat downstairs, okay?”

I nodded, almost paralyzed with butterflies over our little chat to come.

CHAPTERTWENTY-NINE

Dante

Penny looked at me like I’d become untrustworthy. The judgement in her eyes cut me unexpectedly deep.

Not only had I been inside her body, searched for her, and now opened my home to her, but I was about to tell her something I wasn’t proud of. Something only my innermost, closest circle was privy to.

While I wasn’t alone in my suffering, it still wasn’t an easy subject to talk about.

We finished making her bed in silence, then headed downstairs.

“I’m going to make some coffee. Would you like something to eat or drink?”

Penny hedged. “Uh, no thanks. Not at the moment.”

“Help yourself any time.”

She smiled and slid onto one of the stools at the kitchen island. “So, what did you want to tell me?”

I smirked to hide the kick of apprehension. “Can’t wait, huh?”

“I’d rather know now.”

Exhaling forcefully, I focused on spooning coffee grounds into the portafilter.

“I’ve only ever told a select few people, one of whom I was living with at the time.”

I caught Penny’s nod in my peripheral vision and felt her sharp attention following my every move. After clipping the portafilter onto the coffee machine, I turned and leaned my ass against the counter.

“There’s no easy way to say this, and frankly, I would rather not tell you at all, but since you’re staying here, you need to know. I suffer from a form of PTSD called REM Sleep Behavior Disorder.”

Her expression scrunched. “What’s that?”

I ran a hand through my hair and tugged at the back of my neck. Nowadays, there shouldn’t be stigma around Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, but only those who battled it could truly understand the sense of hopelessness that came with, first, not being able to control what went on in your head, and second, being unable to stop those demons from ruling certain aspects of your life.

Releasing my neck, I gripped the kitchen counter on either side of my hips. “While I sometimes dream about shit, I, on occasion, reenact situations I’ve been exposed to in the Middle East.”

Penny’s eyes grew wide and she straightened, subconsciously putting more space between her and I.

“Like,killpeople?”

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