“I love you,” I tell him again.

“I see that,” he laughs, kissing me.  “Simple words would have sufficed.  You didn’t need to knock me down with it.”

I giggle.  “Shut up and kiss me.”

So he does.

Chapter Nineteen

Pax

I know I’m being a pu**y now.

But as I stare at Mila, at the beautiful girl in front of me, I can’t help but know that I’ve never loved anything like I love her.  It’s true.  The baffling thing is that she loves me back.  That’s mind-boggling…this beautiful girl wants me.  I keep waiting to somehow f**k it up.  But I haven’t yet and she is still here.

She kisses me now, her lips wet from her bath and I inhale her, my hands running over her na**d back.

“You’re a wrinkled prune,” I tell her, chuckling. I hold up the towel and she steps out into it. I wrap it her shoulders, then grab another one to dry her off.

“You’re too good to me,” she announces.

“Not possible,” I answer.

God.  I am a pu**y.

She runs upstairs to slip into one of my t-shirts and I light the fireplace.  We curl up on the couch in front of the fire and chat for at least an hour, watching the lake ripple under the silvery moon.

“This has been the perfect date,” she murmurs, curled halfway onto my lap.  “Even if we did almost burn down your house.”

I chuckle.  “Thank god I’m insured.”

Her giggle is interrupted by a wide yawn.  She slaps her hand over her mouth, embarrassed.

“Sorry!  You wore me out tonight, I guess.  Are you ready for bed?”

I nod and turn off the fire and follow her upstairs.  I marvel in the fact that it seems so comfortable with her here.  She makes it feel like home.  And for some reason, that terrifies me and I don’t know why.  So I do what I always do when something bothers me. I shake it off and block it out.

I curl up behind Mila and wrap my arms around her.  I fall asleep with my face buried in her hair.

But then I dream.

Fuck.

Even as I dream, I know that I’m dreaming.  But I can’t force myself to wake.  It’s been the same thing for months now.

I’m somewhere small and suffocating.  There is barely any light, but I hear my mom.

“Please.  Please.  Please.”  She’s begging.

Is she begging me?

I don’t know and it’s f**king killing me.

I try to call out for her, but my lips are frozen.  I’m too afraid to call out.

Why am I afraid?  What do I think will happen if I make a sound?

I don’t know that, either.

She’s begging again.

I hear my name.

And then I’m awake, gasping for breath.

“Pax,” Mila is shaking me.

Mila was the one saying my name.  She woke me from the dream.

I sit up, trying to stop my f**king heart from pounding, by taking deep breaths.  What the hell?

“You’re drenched,” Mila says softly, pushing my hair away from my forehead with her cool hand.  “The same dream?”

I nod.  “I don’t know what the f**k…”

She strokes my back and pulls me down to lie next to her.  She enmeshes her fingers with mine, then lifts mine to her lips. She kisses the scar on my hand, then tucks it back up next to my chest.

“We need to figure out what this is,” she tells me softly.

“I know,” I answer.  “But we’re not going to figure it out tonight.  Go back to sleep, babe.  I’m sorry I woke you.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she says quietly. “I just hate to see you so upset.”

She snuggles against my back, stroking my arm.  But it isn’t long until her fingers fall limply against me and her breathing turns soft and even.  She’s asleep.

I enjoy her warmth pressed against me and I try to sleep.  I count sheep.  I recite song lyrics in my head.  I watch the moon.  Nothing works.

“Fuck,” I mutter. I get out of bed as carefully as I can so I don’t wake Mila.  I glance down at her and she hasn’t moved. Her lips puff out just a little as she breathes and I smile before I quietly walk away.

The house is silent as I make my way downstairs to the kitchen.  I don’t know what the f**k is wrong with me.  Maybe it’s my body’s way of withdrawing itself from hard drugs.  But that can’t be it.  I haven’t used anything but whiskey in two months.

Whiskey.

Now, there’s an idea.  If ever I needed it, it’s now.

I grab a bottle from the cupboard and a tumbler.  Then I decide to forgo the tumbler.  I carry the bottle with me to the couch, where I collapse heavily and watch the water moving under the moon from the window. I take a swig of Jack.  Then two.  Then three.

Before I know it, half the bottle is gone.

And I’m finally sleepy.

I close my eyes.

When I wake, it’s morning and the living room is filled with light.

Mila is sitting at my feet, looking fresh and perfect.  She’s already dressed and her hair is pulled back neatly with a band.  She’s holding a cup of coffee and another sits on the ottoman in front of us.

“I brought you coffee,” she says.  She glances at the half-empty bottle of whiskey.  “I thought you might need it.”

I squeeze my eyes closed to block out the light.  “Thanks,” I mumble.  “I couldn’t sleep.  I thought the whiskey would help.”

“I’m sure your head will thank you today,” she answers wryly.

I grunt in response and pull a cushion over my head.

“What does Dr. Tyler say about your dreams?” she asks seriously.  “He must have an opinion.”

I lay there silently, trying to force my head to stop hurting.  It doesn’t work.  In fact, it feels like it’s going to split in two.

“He wants to hypnotize me,” I finally admit, tossing the cushion down to my feet.  “He thinks my mind is trying to protect me from something that I don’t want to recall.  He said that hypnosis might help me remember it so that I can deal with it.”

Mila looks at me thoughtfully.  And then, instead of getting freaked out like I was afraid she would, she nods.

“I think that’s a good idea. You should do it.  Can I come with you?”




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