Dark Child (Wild Men 5)

Destiny.

Blood.

I frown. “Maybe.” But I’m distracted by a buzzing in my ears, a strange but familiar dizziness.

“Did you want to watch a movie?” she says, and I nod automatically, lead her toward my bedroom. “How about that fantasy film you were talking to me about the other day? That old one with the puppets, what was it called… The Dark Crystal?”

I snag my laptop from my desk and sit heavily on the bed, dragging her down with me. I grip the laptop tightly, aware my hands are shaking.

“If you want to watch something else…” She trails off, giving me a worried look.

“No, this is fine.” I scoot back until I hit the pillows and stack them against the headboard. “Come here.” I pull her to my side and in degrees start to relax. “This is perfect.”

My lids feel so damn heavy. My mind stops running in circles when she’s with me, my heart stops racing, and this rare calm makes me drowsy.

But I don’t fucking wanna sleep. She’s here, and what I really want is to tear the clothes off her and bury myself inside her. But she’s probably tired from the bus ride and concerned.

Sure enough, when I glance down at her, the curve of her mouth is sad, and though I’m not sure if it’s because of the movie or her thoughts, I decide to ask.

“Is your sister all right? And her guy?”

She looks up at me and snuggles closer. “Sort of. I mean, he’s feeling better, at least.”

“And you?” I’m looking right into the velvety dark of her eyes. I curl my arm and touch the creamy softness of her cheeks. “Are you all right?”

“Now I am.” She kisses my chest over my T-shirt. “I wish you’d been there.”

“Fuck, me too.” This girl… “I wished that, too. Hey, have I ever told you that you look like Sergeant Laureline in Valerian?”

She laughs. “Aw shucks, really? Love that movie.”

“Yeah. You’re a dark-haired version of her. And you know that part when she rescues Valerian, and she wears that jellyfish on her head?”

“Yes! That was awesome.”

It’s my turn to laugh. “Would you wear a jellyfish on your head for me?”

“Depends.” She pats her hair. “You’d have to be in mortal danger from an alien race, Mr. Watson, because let me tell you, jellyfish were never meant as headwear.”

“She was trying to save him.” I sober up. “You rescued me, too.”

“What do you mean?”

I falter.

So relaxed beside her, all my defenses down, I wasn’t really thinking when I said that. I can’t explain, not without giving voice to what is happening to me, and I still haven’t solved the riddle—if there is one.

Justice…

What I meant was that she rescued me from the nightmares. They’re fewer in between and not as bad these days. Or nights. I sleep better. I smile more. I look forward to every morning.

Never realized how much darker life had been before her. Nobody would believe me if I told them there are times I don’t want to get up, that I dread the day. That some days are like nights, murky and cold. That the nightmares fuck me up so bad I can’t stand to see anyone, hear a single word.

Can a person make such a difference? Make you want to really live?

“Once,” I find myself saying, not even sure what the connection with anything is, and why I am telling her this, “I made a deal with my sister Gigi. Anyway, when I was little, maybe four or five? And she was six.”

“A deal about what?”