Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 89074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
And then a chill goes down my spine.
“No,” Rayne is calling out now.
I’m running out of time. It’s still so dark, and I feel like the further I stumble forward, the further away I am from Rayne.
I need to get to him.
When I try to scream out to him, my lips are sewn shut. No sound makes it out of my chest, and now I’m flailing, my heart pounding, knowing I’m not going to be able to get to him.
When I turn around to head backwards, I’m met with another cold stone wall.
It’s sealed off.
Fully trapped.
And my whole body suddenly feels paralyzed, like I’m in a straitjacket, sending impulses to all of my limbs to just fucking move, but nothing happens.
This is a dream, I finally know.
A nightmare.
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 fucking jumped like 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 had plenty of 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.
“Why the hell is that thing open?” I say softly, nodding at the window.
“I like to sleep cold. The air is finally starting to get really cool at night.”
I shift on the bed.
I’m sitting up, and I cradle my head in my hands, rubbing my palms over my face.
“It’s like you’re asking to get shot in the neck with another dart.”
He snorts. “Not sure it’ll make a difference if I crack the thing for some fresh air.”
I puff out a breath of air.
The fear is finally starting to dissipate from my nervous system. I smooth out my hair with my palm, still feeling ridiculously childish for waking Rayne up like that.
“Just go back to sleep,” I tell him.
“Are you going to be able to fall back asleep?” he asks me.
“I don’t know. Probably not. Why the fuck do you care?”
“Damn. You’re a sourpuss when you wake up from a nightmare, aren’t you?”
I sigh. “Sleep paralysis is a lot worse than just a nightmare. I don’t think my body’s going to be relaxed for a while, Colson.”
“Sorry,” he says again.
It’s the second time he’s felt the need to apologize for something tonight.
Rayne should be lashing back at me like it’s his full-time job to play argumentative volleyball with me, but he’s… softer tonight.
Maybe because he shot a fat fucking load down my throat earlier.
Or maybe because unlike me, he was actually getting some good sleep.
For a while, it seems like he’s going back to bed. He lies back down on his mattress, breathing evenly, sighing peacefully a few times.