Page 59 of Norah

I wake up with a scream, panicking, heart pounding out of my chest. My breath comes in quick gasps as I lurch upwards, fighting out from beneath the blankets that have twisted around me.

“Norah, baby, you’re safe.” Ethan’s arms wrap around me, pulling me to his chest in a gentle but firm embrace. “It’s just a dream, you’re OK.” He keeps repeating the same words as he holds me, pulling my trembling body onto his lap and rocking me. Gradually, the last vestiges of the dream subside, and my heart rate returns to normal. Wiped out from the adrenaline crash, I rest against him, letting his warmth chase away the chill of the nightmare.

“Sorry I woke you again.” It’s been four days since the attack, and I’ve woken up screaming at least once every night. Plus, twice during the day when I drifted off for a nap. Each time, he has been with me, holding me, helping me to shake off the nightmares. It’s tough on him to see me suffering, even though he’d never let on that he’s bothered.

“Don’t be sorry.” Ethan tips my chin back with his finger, forcing me to look up at him. It’s dark, but a hint of moonlight catches the planes of his face, making his concern clear. “This is just a way for your mind to process everything.” He pauses, his finger tracing the line of my jaw. “I want to be next to you, to hold you when you have bad dreams. Every night when you fall asleep, I’ll be right here watching over you, keeping you safe.”

Oh, Ethan. Just when I think I can’t love him any more than I already do, he says something that squeezes even more love into my bursting heart. The swell of emotion brings tears to my eyes, and I crinkle my nose as I try to keep them from escaping. I’m almost successful, but one lone drop slips down my cheek.

His forehead furrows in worry, and he brushes the dampness off my cheek with his thumb. He says, “Baby, don’t cry. I wasn’t trying to upset you.”

I sniffle as more tears join the first. “You didn’t,” I say. “I just love you so much.” I try to push back into his chest, but Ethan cups his hands around my face and holds it still. His eyes burn into mine, searing me with the intensity of his love.

Kissing away each tear, his lips brush across my face with the softest of caresses. “You’re everything to me, Norah. You own my heart. Love isn’t a strong enough word to express how I feel about you.” Then he pulls me back in a rough hug, tucking my head under his chin and into my comfort spot against his neck. His familiar scent wraps around me, and I sigh with pleasure. We sit for several minutes, matching our breaths to each other, finding peace in the closeness of our connection.

Eventually I doze off, awakening several hours later to find myself tucked under the covers and the sun filling the room with light. Ethan has wrapped himself around me like a muscular blanket, my back to his front, our limbs entangled. I’m not ready to move yet, wanting to enjoy the safety of his embrace. Feeling safe isn’t a permanent emotion yet, so I’m making the most of the moments I get.

Even though IknowSimon is dead, my brain still freaks out at least several times a day. At random moments, my heart will start racing, and my body feels cold all over. My vision will blur, and an intense panic surges through me, taking my breath away. Yesterday I had two attacks; once while showering, and another when a hotel maid knocked on our door. When the maid showed up, I almost passed out from the resulting panic.

Ethan has been incredibly supportive, and he tells me it’s normal to have some PTSD after what I went through. He knows quite a lot about post-traumatic stress from his military days, which is comforting and helps me not feel like such a basket case when I lose control.

I truly hope I’m able to move past this before too long. I hate that Simon still has a place in my head, but I don’t know how to force him out. No matter how hard I try to push everything that happened out of my mind, the flashes of memory won’t go away. I close my eyes and see Simon’s sneering face, or the broken bones jabbing out of my skin. In a moment of disconnect, I feel myself crashing through the window, or teeth tearing at my throat.

If it were just me suffering through the memories, it wouldn’t be as bad, but I know they affect Ethan, too. He doesn’t knowwhatI’m remembering, but he knows it’s bad. I see the guilt and worry on his face each time he tries to comfort me after a panic attack or nightmare.

He’s asked me to tell him about the memories, about the details of that day, but I can’t bring myself to speak the words. I’m worried that it will hurt Ethan even more to hear what I went through alone.

Just thinking about it makes me tense up, and the slight movement wakes Ethan. He tugs me close and presses his lips to the top of my head. “Good morning, baby. Are you feeling OK?”

“Yeah. Good morning to you, too.”I’m not really OK, not right now.My nerves are prickling and my skin feels too tight for my body. But I don’t want Ethan to know. He’s done so much; I don’t want to burden him even more than I already have.

For the last four days, Ethan has done everything in his power to make things easier for me. Moving us to a hotel suite so I wouldn’t have to stay in the apartment. Buying new clothes so I wouldn’t have to spend time in our bedroom packing.

Carrying me around like precious cargo, refusing to let me lift a finger. Cuddling me, rubbing my back, never losing patience for a second. Even finding blood bags and bringing them to me, so I wouldn’t have to go out. After all this, I have to give Ethan some moments of normalcy, regardless of how I’m feeling.

Not wanting Ethan to catch on to my discomfort, I give him a quick kiss on the mouth and then jump out of bed. “I’m going to take a quick shower, alright?”

“Do you want me to join you?” He waggles his eyebrows in mock lasciviousness, and I know he’s trying to lighten my mood. I was too scared of being alone the first few times I needed to shower, so he stayed with me. But right now, I need some alone time to get my emotions under control.

“It’s OK, I’m going to give showering solo a try.” I force out a smile.

Ethan gives me an odd look, but it’s gone in a second, replaced by a soft smile. “Sure thing, baby. But call out if you need me, OK?”

I dart into the bathroom and call back to him, “I will. But don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

ETHAN

Iamworried.

Physically, Norah seems as good as new. No lasting effects from her injuries, not even the smallest of scars. Physically, it’s like the attack never happened. But mentally, Norah isn’t doing well.

She has nightmares, at least once a night, when she wakes up shaking and crying. The panic attacks, multiple times a day, when she freezes in panic while the memories invade. When the maid came to the door yesterday, Norah collapsed, gasping for breath and trembling all over.

Seeing her like that breaks my heart and makes me feel so damn helpless. I’m angry too, sofuriousthat she was hurt, and filled with guilt that I wasn’t there to stop it. I’m not angry withNorah.She thought she was making the right decision by leading that monster away. If she hadn’t run, Simon might have killed her right there in the apartment.

So no matter how much I hate that she tried to deal with things on her own, I can’t be angry with her. I’m so fucking angry that a monster hurt my girl, almost killed her,wouldhave killed her if I’d arrived only minutes later.But she’s still here. Still here, and safe. Still here, but hurting.

I can see it in her eyes, in her expression, in her tense muscles that only release in sleep. Apart from the panic attacks and nightmares, there’s a riptide of trauma that keeps dragging Norah under, never letting her catch her breath.

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