Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 241
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
I smash a pillow against my ears, trying to drown out the microscopic noises. “Help a guy out, bunk bed,” I mutter too quietly for anyone to hear. “Thought we had a friendship going.”
I’m sinking into the foam mattress, probably too soft. Don’t think that’s the issue though. I start counting baby sheep hurdling a fence.
Come on.
Sleep.
Just go to fucking sleep.
I drift for a minute, and I’m entering a house. I’m searching through strange rooms where the drywall is rotted and ripped apart. My pulse quickens, and my boots crunch glass and syringes. I run harder, and I’m shouting out—but my voice is dead and muted. I’m pushing against shoulders as the rooms crowd with men, and as I scream these noiseless fucking screams, I feel myself calling out for her.
I’m screaming her name.
My pulse catapults—I throttle awake. Breathing heavy, I pat the bed in the darkness, the quilt twisted around my legs, and I roll over to check on the other bunk. No one else is awake. I didn’t wake them. I swallow hard, my hands on my forehead.
I listen carefully and hear her breaths above me. I wish I could hold her. I wish I could feel the assurance of her pulse.
Reaching up, I touch the rafters. You have her. She’s safe. My eyes burn. You have her. She’s safe.
I pinch my searing eyes and turn onto my side. We’re not there. We’re here. We’re not there. We’re here. I repeat the chant until I slowly fall back to sleep.
“Donnelly…Donnelly.” The voice echoes in the distance, and a chill pricks my flesh. “Donnelly. Donnelly.” And then, “Paul.”
My name slams against me, and I wake to a numbing cold—I’m standing. I’m outside in the freezing winter. And I’m staring right at Eliot Cobalt. Alarm shoots into my veins like pure adrenaline.
He speaks in French, not realizing he’s not talking in English—or I’ve convinced him I am actually a part of the Cobalt brethren. Thinking the former is more likely, and I’m mentally stalling and skidding and slipping on what is an excruciating moment for me.
I was sleepwalking, and Luna’s best friend, Beckett’s younger brother, a Cobalt, followed me out. His thin blue pajama bottoms and the white tee, molded against his muscles, makes me think he ran. He ran after me and didn’t even grab a fucking coat. Dark concern has washed away the bright mischief of Eliot. His uneasy breath smokes the air, cheeks pinker.
And is his hand reached out to calm me?
I’m calm.
Alright.
He’s just not someone who should ever be in this place. I help him. I help his family. He doesn’t need to help me.
“Just out taking a midnight stroll,” I rasp, my voice raw from the dry cold, and I try to step forward.
“Do not move,” Eliot warns, his palm flat against my bare chest, and a shiver snakes through my body. That’s when I hear a tiny, nearly imperceptible crack.
I check the landscape behind him, and I realize I’m a football throw from the dock, from the boathouse. Glancing at my feet, I’m wearing navy blue slippers. Not mine. Don’t know who these belong to. What’s more concerning than stealing someone’s footwear—we’re not standing on the safety of the snowy earth.
Eliot surveys the length of the frosty ground as another louder splintering noise catches my ear. We’re standing on ice. I walked out on the lake that just froze overnight.
“Go to the dock,” I say. “This isn’t gonna hold both of our weight.” We might have less than a minute. All I hear is our heavier breaths and the foreboding creaking beneath our feet.
Eliot draws his gaze back to mine. “The ice is thin. It’ll likely break behind me as I walk.”
“Then run—”
“You don’t understand—”
“I understand alright,” I say fast, hearing the fissure, feeling the unstable surface underneath us. “You’re worried you’ll reach the dock and I won’t—but I’m not following you. I’m going in another direction.”
“The dock is the shortest distance.”
“You gotta stop arguing with me,” I say with the hard rise and fall of my chest, adrenaline trying to warm my shuddering frame and stop my teeth from chattering. “Just trust me, please.”
He’s conflicted. His muscles flex as he keeps his body still. “I’d never leave anyone—”
“You’re not leaving me,” I interject, hurried. “I can walk. I can move. And I’m not planning on taking a nighttime swim. You wanna be a sacrificial fish for me? Don’t be. ‘Cause I’m not gonna be one for you. I’m running as fast as I can in the opposite direction, and you should too.”
Eliot gives me one quiet resolute look before he says, “Let’s see if that’s true.” And instead of sprinting to the dock, he takes off for the longer route.
Fuck me. I have no time to think. As soon as our weight shifts, the ice breaks beneath my feet, and I’m not tiptoeing and taking my sweet fucking time. I just go.