Goddamn it.
Another sob, this one muffled by her pillow.
I ground my jaw and went to her bedside.
Abigail hadn’t had a hearts-and-flowers childhood. We’d bonded over that, once. She was a princess, I was a street kid, but we’d both been scarred by rejection and abandonment. Back then, she fooled me into thinking I got off easy compared to her.
My mom only left me once.
Hers never stopped leaving.
I lifted her up by the shoulders, shaking her. “Wake the fuck up.” Her eyes fluttered open, hazy. Brown-black strands of hair stuck to her forehead and flushed cheeks. Lips parted.
The urge to let her drop back to the mattress and leave was strong. It was no longer my job to chase away her nightmares, and I was dangerously close to crossing a line I’d drawn in cement.
My grip tightened on her shoulders.
“I can’t find anyone.” Sleep-coated distress colored her words. “They promised they wouldn’t leave this time, but I can’t find anyone.”
I should get up. It was only a matter of seconds until she came back to reality.
I peeled strands of hair from her face. “It’s just another nightmare, Abs.”
Her brows caved. “I don’t want to spend Christmas alone.”
“You’re not alone, sweet girl.”
The term of endearment slipped out, but she’d be too tired to notice. Hopefully she’d be too tired to remember any of this.
Her cloudy gaze cleared, focusing on the room, the bed, then me. Recognition slowly washed over her features. “Oh.”
My hand lingered longer than necessary on her cheek. Abby was a siren in her floaty black slip and I was the sailor ready to jump into the rocks for her.
I pushed the rest of her hair out of her face. This was Abigail at her most dangerous. Because when Abigail dropped her walls, mine fell with them. I forgot. I forgot to hate her, forgot why I had to learn to hate her.
“You good?” My voice was soft.
“Yeah. Thank you.”
Thank you.
I flinched. Whatever tenderness snuck insidiously inside me vanished. Disgust slid as sewer water through my veins. First at myself, for being so goddamn stupid, then at her.
It had been a night like this when she’d told me she loved me. She’d looked at me like this too.
My voice was too soft, deadly.
“Thank you?” I tightened my grip on her hair to a yank. “Thank you, promise, please… Abigail Crowne’s four favorite words.”
“What are you doing?” Her voice shook.
I laughed, biting my tongue. “You’re so fucking predictable.”
A small, bluish-green dot caught my eye, visible on her small wrist. I let go of her hair, gripping her wrist, pulling her small body to me and holding her in the air and off the bed in an awkward position so she was at my mercy.
Fuck.
She still looked so beautiful.