Page 43 of Queen Rose

What. The. Fuck?The overwhelming urge to rage at whoever has made her feel this way rips at my insides. My blood heats to boiling. Who inflicted this havoc on a seemingly strong girl? Who hurt you, Aria? But she’s in no shape for me to dig deeper. I get the feeling that she’d throw up walls to protect the fragile, devastated girl hiding within her, and I’d lose what closeness and trust we’ve built so far.

And, fuck, the stutter on her final word really gets to me, and my throat clogs with all the things I want to say that I know damn well she isn’t ready to hear yet. “Because you’re upset, and I care about you. This is what people who care about each other do. And you’ve done nothing wrong. I think we should talk about some of the things you said, but this isn’t the time.” In the bedroom, I deposit her on the bed. “Do you want your pajamas?”

She bites her lip, looking up at me from under her lashes. “Yes, please. Is that okay?”

I wet my lower lip, wondering why she’d even ask that. “Of course it is.”

“There’s an old T-shirt in there. And panties. That’s all I need.”

It doesn’t take me more than a few seconds to locate the items she’d requested, and I come back over to the bed with them for her. As she slips them on with her back to me, I towel myself dry. My eyes linger on her right butt cheek. There’s a nasty bruise, and in the middle, a spot where the skin was broken. Recently. I frown, wondering how that happened and simultaneously realize that’s why she’d flinched when I touched her there. “That looks like it hurts.”

She looks over her shoulder, her face pale. Her hand automatically goes to the bruise. “Oh. It was the dumbest thing. I bent over right into the corner of my dresser. And, yeah. It definitely hurts.” As if she’s feeling it happen all over again, she winces, then tears her gaze from mine.

I frown some more, not liking the mark on her beautiful body or the explanation for how it had gotten there, before digging in my bag for a pair of boxer briefs while she pulls back the thick comforter and sheet and slips under them.

She looks like a damn angel with her blonde hair splayed out over the pillow around her head like that. “Are you sure you want me to stay here with you?” I rake a hand through my hair, eyeing her carefully, watching for any indication that I should go.

“Do you not want to?”

“That’s not it. Though, I don’t really know if I’ll snore or something if I get too relaxed. I sleep on the couch at home.” I give her a small smile, hoping to make her laugh or smile or anything.

Her lips form an O. “I’d like for you to stay with me.” She gives a nervous, tear-clogged laugh. “I mean, if you aren’t scared off by my crying and acting like a freak.”

I press my lips together, exhaling sharply through my nose. Shaking my head, I slide in beside her. “You aren’t a freak, and I highly doubt anything you could say or do would scare me away. Now come here. Let me hold you.”

She closes her eyes tightly for a few seconds. But then she scoots closer, snuggling up to my side, and rests her head on my chest.

“Get some sleep, okay? I’ve got you.”

Aria nods. “Yeah. Everything will look better in the morning.”

I lightly brush my fingertips over the skin at her lower back as she relaxes against me. She’s out pretty quickly, but it’s a long time before I fall asleep. All the things she said claw at my insides. I don’t know what to do, but maybe she’s right. Things will be better in the morning.

* * *

I jerk out of what was already a fitful sleep to hear Aria urgently mumbling something. I usually sleep like the dead unless Mom’s feeling really bad or one of the kids has a problem. There’s no doubt in my mind that the entire reason I can’t sleep is because I now know Aria is a very troubled girl. The conversation with her friends had revealed a lot, yet nothing at the same time. She falls quiet again, and I breathe a sigh of relief. She’s probably just a very active dreamer.

Not to mention, this bed is too damn comfortable. I growl, shifting a bit so I can reach my phone where I’d left it on the nightstand. Three in the morning. Jesus.

“No. Don’t—” Aria winces and goes stiff in my arms. “Don’t.” Her head jerks. “Stop. Stop. No!”

The fuck? Not a dream. A nightmare. Considering she’d also had a nightmare the night I found her at the grocery store, I start to wonder how common an occurrence this is. Out of instinct, I cradle her against me, whispering, “Shhh, shhh,” near her ear. I gently stroke my hand down the back of her head, over her hair, in an attempt to soothe her, just like I do for my sister when she wakes up in the grips of a bad dream.

Aria lets loose a raw, throaty scream. She cries out over and over again, huddling herself into a ball, her hands wrapping around the back of her head. It’s the most heartbreaking thing I’ve witnessed in my entire life.

“Aria. Baby.” Shit. What’s the rule? Is it someone in a nightmare that you aren’t supposed to awaken? Or is that just sleepwalkers?

“A-are you awake?” The hitch in my voice betrays how much this is affecting me. “Aria? Aria, baby, please wake up.”

She’s shaking badly, but I sense when she pulls out of it. Her body goes rigid, and she presses up off the pillow, blinking in the dark.

“It’s okay. You’re all right. It was just a bad dream.”

Her chest jerks and heaves. “Y-you heard me?”

My teeth sink into my lip. I can’t lie to her. “Yeah. I did. I woke up to you talking.”

“I was talking.” She doesn’t phrase it as a question. It’s like she already knows she does this. Her eyes look empty as she stares off across the room.

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