“Then what?” My head is pounding, and I press the heels of my hands into my eyes. “Dammit. Fuck.”
“Hey…” She sits by my side. “You have a headache, huh?”
No shit. It’s like a trio of jackhammers pummeling the insides of my skull.
“Pills?” she asks.
“Won’t help.”
She says nothing for a while. Then she puts her hands at the back of my neck, digging her thumbs into the muscles, and I hiss. It hurts like hell, but at the same time it feels so damn good. Her small hands are surprisingly strong.
“Where did you learn to do this?” I groan as she massages a particularly sore spot.
“My mom sometimes gets tension headaches. I paid attention to her physiotherapist when he massaged her back then, so I could do it for her at home.”
I swallow a moan of pleasure as she presses deep into clenched muscles, unlocking them. “Feels great,” I manage.
“Your back is a mess.” She pushes her thumbs into the base of my neck, and I jolt, electric pain shooting down my spine.
“Ow.”
“Your muscles are hard like stones. Could be a reason why you can’t sleep well. That and the nightmares.”
I say nothing.
“What were you dreaming about?”
I don’t wanna talk about this. But she won’t talk to me unless I talk to her, and I’m hiding a lot from her already, so fuck it. “Foster care.”
Just two words. There. Was it easy? Nope. I feel as if I’ve just had to break two of my teeth and spit them out.
I don’t talk about my nightmares to anyone. Ever. Not even to Seth who happens to be the one to wake me up every time. Or to Zane who has given me all I have. So why am I telling her?
Her hands stop their massaging. I frown, but before I turn to look at her, she slips her arms around me and rests her cheek between my shoulder blades.
“What happened to you there?”
My heart hammers in my chest. I try to swallow, but my mouth is too dry. “I don’t…” My throat clicks. Oh shit. I so don’t wanna talk about this. What was I thinking? “Nothing happened.”
“A nothing that gives you nightmares?”
My jaw clenches. “Yeah. Like the nothing that makes you scared of Seth.”
I hear her sharp intake
of breath. After a few moments pass, she exhales. “Touché.”
But it doesn’t make me feel better. It makes me feel worse that I threw her words back at her. She doesn’t deserve this. She saved my life, Shane’s life. Probably more. She’s a strong person. Whatever happened must be still scaring her, stopping her from talking about it.
And because that means my past is scaring me, too, I force myself to talk about it. “It was hell,” I say.
Her hands shift, splaying on my stomach. I expect her to ask something, but she doesn’t. Leaves the ball in my court.
“We were all dumped together in this big old facility.” I lick my lips, desperately trying to wet them. “Some of us, the newer ones, slept on the floor. We had to fight over food. Some of the kids there formed a gang and stole all the food, then beat up everyone who resisted.”
She still says nothing, and the words come with difficulty. I’d never talked about all this before. “They raped the girls, even some of the younger boys, and I couldn’t…” Bile rises in my throat, and I swallow convulsively. Shit. “I couldn’t stop them.”
Can’t do this, dammit. I get up, shaking free of her arms, and pace the room. Shoving my hands through my hair, I stop at the window. It’s dark outside, and my reflection stares back at me. I look like roadkill, face pale, eyes wide, short hair standing on end.