Page 111 of Ex Somnis

Ridge looks away first.

“It helped. Paul helped. It at least made me stop wanting to die.” He examines his nails with detached interest. “And now I’m glad to be alive. I have my literal dream woman and… friends.” He says the words as if it surprises him on their way out. “But even so, nothing feels the same as it did. Everything that used to feel like mine was stripped away in a second, and there’s nothing to do about that. Things I used to love don’t feel the same. I’m constantly having to think about access, the medical things, and how the world takes a toll that most people will never understand.”

When Ridge doesn’t say anything else for a few breaths, Nevan says quietly, “Thank you for opening up to me.”

“I didn’t.”

“You just told me about⁠—”

“Intellectually.” Ridge raises one finger. “I opened up intellectually. Not emotionally. I have a remarkable capacity to describe the most devastating material in a completely detached way. I felt literally nothing telling you that story. But yeah, that’s my little backpack of trauma.”

It can’t be helped. I laugh.

“Oh, and Paul has night terrors,” Ridge says, giving me a haughty look. “Can’t sleep without lights blazing. And he can’t eat anything that tastes like anything. He has…”

I roll my eyes at the fact that Ridge is now trauma-dumping my trauma for me, but when my gaze catches on Nevan’s sketchbook, I freeze.

The page is covered in spiders.

Small ones, large ones, sketched across every margin, clustered in the corners, one very detailed one in the center, taking up most of the page.

Nevan has been sitting under my arm and drawing spiders for the last four minutes.

“Fuck.” I am on my feet in an instant, backing away from him.

“What the…” Ridge rolls closer, craning to see. “Oh. Oh.” He presses a hand over his mouth, which does nothing to stop his laughter.

Nevan looks between us and his sketchbook, baffled. “What?”

Ridge’s eyes are bright with delight. “And Paul…” he finally manages, “… has an unreasonable fear of spiders.”

“It’s not unreasonable, you asshole,” I mutter.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Nevan turns the sketchbook’s page so the spiders are gone. “It’s what I draw to warm up.”

Ridge looks happier than he has in days.

Can’t say I enjoy that.

“Nevan, did you know Ridge is a writer?”

Ridge turns toward me with slow menace. “Don’t you dare.”

“No?” Nevan says, confused by the change in topic.

“Horror, mostly. Very good, actually. Published under R. B. Wells.”

“I’m not really into books.”

“That’s okay. But you should ask him what the B stands for.”

“You absolute bastard,” Ridge growls out.

Nevan looks between us. “Why?”

“Ridge’s middle name is Bonnell.”

Nevan’s mouth twitches, then he chokes on what is very clearly a laugh and turns it into a cough that fools no one.