Page 26 of Juniper Unraveling

I take the pillow he grabbed earlier and snatch a blanket from the closet, arranging them on the floor beneath my bed. “In case Papa wakes in the night,” I whisper, holding up the bed skirt so he can climb under.

Six just fits beneath, and when he turns to the side, his shoulder scrapes against the underside of my bed. Lying with his back to me, he curls into himself and I let the bed skirt fall.

“Goodnight, Six,” I say, crawling into bed.

My body is so exhausted from all the stress, it begs me for sleep, but I can’t. Because there’s a boy under my bed. Not a boy. A man.

One who could very well rape, or kill, me in the night. Easily, too, with as big as he is.

One who walks among Ragers, and whose muscles could rival any one of the men on this side.

I could very well be dead by morning, but it doesn’t matter.

Because, tonight, I saved a boy.

***

Quiet whimpers filter into the void of my mind, and as I concentrate, all my senses return to me at once. I open my eyes to the darkness, and a hard thump hits the bottom of my bed, startling me upright. My head snaps back and forth, looking for the monsters I’m certain have breached the wall, and as another whimper drags my attention downward, to beneath the bed, memory trickles in, like a slow drip.

Six.

I slide from the bed and quietly lift the bed skirt. Six is lying turned away from me, his body curled into a tight ball, trembling so intensely, I reach out to still him, my hand only grazing the soaking wet T-shirt.

He gasps, flopping onto his stomach, and slides out from under the bed.

I hop back onto my bed, peering over the edge, and his eyes find me. Deep pools of blue in a blood red sea. They’re filled with the kind of horror that makes the hairs on my body stand on end. A chill spirals down my spine at the sight of him crouched in the corner, as if something evil lurks behind me, and I have to will myself to go to him.

“Six,” I whisper, as I set my feet onto the hardwood floor. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

He shakes his head, tucking it tight into his knees, and rocks. Back and forth. Back and forth.

With careful steps, I inch closer, not wanting to frighten him and wake Papa. “It’s just me. No one else.” When I reach him, his body is so tightly coiled, muscles pulled taut and shaking, that his bones look as if they’ll snap in half. “It’s just a nightmare. You’re safe.”

The rocking stops. He lifts his head, wearing a mask of confusion as he scans the room.

“You’re safe, I promise.” Talking to him seems to calm him, and when I set my hand on his shoulder, he flinches but doesn’t dart away. Instead, his body sags with a long exhale and a lazy blink of his eye.

He snatches my wrist, holding it to his cheek. Three long breaths, and he closes his eyes.

I stroke my thumb across his cheek, curious to know what visuals play behind his eyes. How could such a strong and intimidating boy be frightened of anything?

With a grip of his elbow, I tug him, guiding him back toward the bed. He crawls beneath the frame once more, settling himself on the pillow, and I slide in beside him.

His brow kicks up in bafflement, and he backs away, but I grip his hand, lying on my side to face him. With our hands clasped between us, I lift them to his face, allowing the lavender scent to calm him.

His chest rises and falls with deep breaths as his eyes shutter.

Tracing a finger down his temple, I hum a soft lullaby, one I occasionally sing while picking herbs in the garden. It’s soothing and tends to put me at ease when the world is too much.

Six pulls my captured hand into his body, while I continue to caress his face, allowing the puffy jagged scars to pass beneath my fingertips. Within minutes, he’s sleeping again.

The welt at his throat slides against the pad of my thumb, and I cringe at the harsh, pocked skin there. “I’ll never let them hurt you again, Six,” I whisper and lean forward to kiss his forehead. “I’ll keep you safe.”

Chapter 9

Dani

A boy who looks to be almost a man hands me a slice of bread and cold coffee in a tin cup. His skeleton pokes through thin skin, that’s dotted with yellowing bruises, and he has a split to his lip. I glance down to his hands, where a festering wound on his thumb nearly touches the bread, and my lip curls with disgust as I accept the food.