Athena
Ithought I’d have a dreamless sleep.
Dean didn’t ask me to come to his room after dinner, and I didn’t push the issue. So I got to sleep in my own bed, which normally I would have been thrilled about if it weren’t for that fucking letter.
I didn’t put it back in the stack of other envelopes. I don’t want the guys to see it, to know that there might be someone coming after me. I don’t want them to see me as weaker than they already do, in need of their protection, even if I am. So I shoved it in my backpack and tried to forget about it, except that that’s impossible, especially after seeing the girl again today. I can’t stop thinking about her, long-haired and vaguely creepy, like that girl who climbs through tv screens in that one horror movie.
That’s the nightmare I have. Not my tv, precisely. But even as completely wrung out and exhausted as I am from the workout, so much so that I’m asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow, I dream about her.
In the nightmare, I open my eyes to see her standing in my doorway. There’s smoke curling around her ankles, and I smell burning, like the house is on fire, even though I can’t see any flames. I scream at her to get out, and she vanishes, but then she’s at the foot of my bed. She multiplies—in my doorway again, standing at the head of my bed inches from my face, crawling through the window, until there’s four, five, six of her, and all of the different stringy-haired girls are holding me down, wrists and ankles as I scream. I still can’t see any fire, but I can feel my flesh burning where she’s touching me as everything in my room starts to turn to ash.
I sit bolt upright in bed, gasping, my hand pressed to my chest as I try to catch my breath. My heart hurts from how hard it’s pounding. I hit the light next to my bed immediately, looking around wildly as if I’m expecting her to come crawling through my window or out from under my closet door any second now.
A gust of wind outside makes some branches scrape against my window, and I swallow back a scream as I jump, clutching the blanket. I feel utterly stupid the minute I realize what it is, but my pulse is still racing, and I feel like I want to burst into tears.
I can’t sleep in here alone tonight.The thought is so visceral that I know it’s true, that I’ll never get back to sleep, and even if I can, I’ll just be plagued with the same nightmare. For once, I don’t want to be alone in bed, and the irony is so thick I can taste it. I’m going to have to go see if I can spend the night with one of the guys if I want to have a chance in hell at getting any more sleep tonight—but who?
Dean has made it very clear that he doesn’t like having me spend the night in his bed, and if I go to his room, I’m pretty sure he’ll push me into sex, which is the absolute last thing I want right now. The bed I really want to crawl into is Jaxon’s, but after the conversation we had in the gym this afternoon, I’m not sure I would be welcome. And I’m also not sure my emotions can handle his potential rejection right now. He might laugh at me as soon as he let me sleep in his bed with him—and if I’m being honest, continuing to do things that bring us closer isn’t doing either one of us any favors. He’s made it clear he’s not going to sleep with me, and at this point, we’re just torturing each other.
Which leaves Cayde.
I have no idea how Cayde feels about overnight guests, either. I also don’t know if going to his bed will mean sex, but at least if he fucks me, it serves a purpose in moving forward our overall plan. And if I can find some way to bridge the resentment between us, form some kind of truce, it might be even better. He’s going to give me shit for this, but it’s clearly my best option.
I slip out of bed, padding quietly down the hall towards his room. I have no idea if he’s up or not, so I softly knock, and I’m both surprised and not at all shocked to hear a curt, “who the fuck is it?” from the other side of the door.
“It’s Athena,” I say quietly. “Can I come in?”
I hear footsteps, and a second later, Cayde yanks open the door. He’s wearing grey sweatpants and nothing else, his smooth, muscular chest completely bare, and he crosses his bulging arms over his chest as he glares down at me. “What the fuck are you doing out here at this time of night? Did Dean send you over for a nightcap? His dick not working tonight?”
I take a deep breath. It’s now or never, and if he’s going to make fun of me, I might as well get it over with. “I had a nightmare,” I say flatly. “A bad one. And I don’t want to be alone. Dean hates people in his bed for anything other than sex, and Jaxon—” I trail off. “Can I just come in?”
Cayde snorts. “A nightmare? Are you five?” He laughs, but he holds the door open wider for me. “Come on in, I guess.”
I walk in, still a little hesitant, but the last thing I want to do is go back to my own room. Cayde shuts the door behind me, one eyebrow raised.
“So you said Dean only lets you in his bed for sex,” Cayde smirks. “What made you think I’d be any different?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. But I knew I couldn’t go to either of the others.”
“So I’m your last resort.” Cayde presses a hand to his bare chest theatrically. “Way to make a guy feel special, little Saint.”
“I try to do the exact opposite of that when it comes to you,” I snap back and then immediately feel just a tiny bit bad about it, considering the fact that Cayde let me come in. Just a little bit, though. He’s been too much of an ass for me to feel all that awful about giving him a taste of his own medicine.
Cayde frowns at me as I stand in the middle of the room awkwardly, not entirely sure where to go. I’m suddenly very self-conscious of the plaid pajama shorts and the black tank I have on, knowing that Cayde can see so much of me. His room is chilly, and my nipples are poking against the thin fabric of my tank, which makes me flush uncomfortably, shifting from foot to foot.
He clears his throat and gestures towards the bed and his desk chair. “Well, pick a place to sit. I was just working on some homework.”
For some reason, the idea of Cayde doing something as normal as homework seems odd to me. I don’t know what I thought he did in here exactly. Still, the idea of him looking up articles and writing a paper or doing math problems seems completely ludicrous to me. “What class are you working on?” I manage as I sit on the edge of the bed gingerly, afraid to scoot too far back on it and give him ideas—even though if I stay, we’re going to be sleeping in the same bed.
I didn’t let myself think too much about that or what I’d do if Cayde decided that was me tacitly agreeing to sleep with him. Given that he’d said in the past that he wanted me begging for it before he did, I was willing to take the risk. But I also know that a lot of what Cayde wants depends on his moods.
“English.” Cayde makes a face. “I’m supposed to compare and contrast these poets. It’s bullshit, really.”
“I like poetry,” I venture. “I could help.”
“Of course you do.” Cayde rolls his eyes. “Who’s your favorite poet? Robert Frost, right? A road less traveled by and all that shit?”
Privately, I’m impressed that he even knew that much. But I just shake my head. “Nope. Pablo Neruda.”