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I keep telling myself that I should ignore them. That I should wrap my pillow around my head and hope that action muffles the anguish in his deep voice, but I can't. I think of some of my nightmares. I think of the ones I had about Mommy after she left.

I'd cry in my tiny, child-like voice waiting for Daddy come in and comfort me.

But he didn't comfort me.

He'd open my bedroom door and shout, “Either you shut up, or I'll shut you up! “I remember the nights after that where I'd dream and wake up crying, only to smother my sobs with my pillow in fear of waking the hideous beast in the room next to mine and ask Mommy why? Why did you leave? Why didn't you take me too? I know you loved me so why did you leave me with him?

Another bludgeoning howl cuts into my quiet thoughts.

Slipping out of bed, I tiptoe to my bedroom door. I know Elijah wouldn't want this. He wouldn't want me to come to him, while he's dreaming of what I assume are ravenous and wicked ways of the past. But I know that when I was in his shoes, that's all I wanted. All I wanted was comfort. And warm arms. And loving words. All I wanted was to know someone was there.

To care.

To watch over me.

To keep me away from daddy and away from the forceful blow from his fist.

I know where Elijah’s bedroom is, but I’ve never been inside of it. Three doors down from his study, I can still hear the pain in his voice as it seeps through the walls. Pushing softly on the door, I step into the dark bedroom and close the door behind me. Elijah is twisted beneath his white cotton sheets, his jaw clenched, hands balled into fists. One of the lamps on the bedside table is on and my eyes center on the contours of his bare, muscled chest as the shadows dance along the ridges.

He screams again, thrashing.

I go to him.

Slide into bed next to him.

Pull him to my chest and wrap my arms around him.

Whisper, “Shhh,” into his ear.

He relaxes and his limbs slack beneath my arms. I can’t see him clearly, but my fingers skim over the hard lines of his face and my chin rests just above his golden waves. I rock him in my arms like he’s my child, relief overwhelming me as his howls twist from sobs to whimpers. Then I hear it. It cuts into the darkness like Jack the Ripper on Durwood Street.

I hear it just as it leaves his lips.

My name.

“Adelaide,” his voice shakes and I feel him tense beneath my fingertips.

“Yes,” I whisper. “I’m here.”

He tries to sit up, but I tighten my hold around him. He struggles, wiggling to try and get me to loosen my grip. “You need to go back to your room.” He raises his voice, but its level. “You shouldn’t have come in here.”

My fingers fan across his face and I know we’re looking into each other’s eyes. “You were screaming.” I touch his eyelashes. His lips. “Your cries were heart-wrenching. I had to do something.”

He manages to pull away from me and sits on the side of the bed, his elbows to his knees, and his head in his hands. “I never wanted anyone to see me like that.”

A sob gets stuck in my

throat and my emotions are all mixed up. I want to comfort him. I want to lie here with him and hold him all night long, but at the same time I can’t understand why in God’s name this man is so ashamed of his nightmares. “I don’t understand,” I say and place my hand against his shoulder. “Everyone has nightmares, Elijah. They’re nothing to be ashamed of.” For eight years I felt like I was living in one and I got through it.

He stands and paces next to the bed. “Not like mine, Adelaide. My nightmares aren’t normal.” He faces me, hands on his hips, waves of amber eyes washing over my face. “I break things. Scream. I’m violent. I could hurt someone. I could hurt you.”

I don’t care what he says. “I know you won’t hurt me, Elijah.” I pat the empty spot next to me. “Come lie down. We can talk about it.”

He shakes his head and continues pacing. He runs a hand through his hair. “Can you imagine what people would think of such a weak man?” he scoffs. “I sob in my sleep. How could I ever have a normal relationship? No one would understand. No woman would understand. They’d run Adelaide.” His eyes find mine again. “Why aren’t you running? Why aren’t you afraid?”

I slip out of bed and lace my fingers through his. “I’ll never run,” I say honestly. A soft smile curls on my lips and massage the crook between his thumb and forefinger with mine. “Even if I had somewhere else to go, I wouldn’t run.”


Tags: Lauren Hammond Asylum Romance