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“You’re safe here,” she says. “Rest.”
The blood fades, the grinning skulls are swallowed into the night and I can breathe again. The darkness is now warm and smells of her. She strokes a hand over my eyes, threads her fingers in my hair, and I sink back into sleep, real, soft, dreamless sleep.
Meg…
At some point, voices filter through the velvet black I’m lost in, and I have a feeling I should wake up, move. They’re familiar, though, nothing to fear here, and I’m too far gone.
They return later, closer than before. Steps sound, soft and careful.
“He’s been out since this morning,” her satiny voice says. “He said he hasn’t slept in days. Don’t wake him.”
“Damn, he looks like roadkill. That shiner is turning black and blue. Gonna be so fucking pretty by tomorrow.” The man snorts.
I know his voice, but my lids are so damn heavy I can’t lift them.
“Has he taken anything?” A silence follows, then he sighs. “Any drugs? Pills?”
“I don’t know,” she says, her voice strained. “It never crossed my mind. Crap.”
“Hey, Rafe.” A hand is shaking me roughly, and I struggle to open my eyes. “Hey, wake up. Did you take anything?” Another hard shake. “Did you take drugs, pills, shoot up anything I should know about? Dammit, fucker, answer me.”
Hell. Zane. It’s Zane shaking me, yelling in my fucking ear like I’m deaf.
I slit my eyes open, wincing at the vicious stab of light. “The fuck, Z-man?”
“He’s awake!” Zane lifts a pierced brow. “Rise and shine. It’s only late afternoon.”
“Fuck you.” I blink crusty lashes. My head aches.
“Still haven’t answered me.” He’s squatting by the side of the bed, dark eyes regarding me solemnly. “Drugs? Sleeping pills? Anything I should worry about?”
“You know I’ve been clean for years.” My eyes are closing, and it’s hard to keep them open. “Haven’t touched the stuff. No pills, no nothing. Satisfied?”
“Depends.” A pause. “Did you try to step in front of a car, man?”
I frown. All these questions… “Thought about it,” I mutter, my voice muffled by the pillow. “Changed my mind. Wanted to see Meg.”
“Damn…” Zane produces a funny sound, a cross between a groan and a sigh. He taps the mattress by my head. “Go back to sleep, and then we’ll talk. Got some news for you. Oh and, happy birthday, fucker.”
Yeah whatever. I’m already drifting under, but I need…
“Meg?” I fight the drowsiness, open my eyes and twist on the bed, trying to locate her. “Where…?”
“Right here,” she says, climbing on the bed next to me, tangling her fingers in my hair. Don’t know why it’s so soothing when she does that. “Everything’s okay.”
And I don’t know why I believe her, trust she can make everything okay when no matter how hard I try everything keeps crashing down—but I do.
Goddammit, I do.
***
More voices. I groan into the pillow. What’s this, a fucking party? And why wasn’t I invited?
Or was I invited and passed out drunk? Happened once or twice, and fuck, that shit isn’t pleasant.
It’d explain why I’m lying on my stomach in bed, my head pounding like a Deathmoth concert rehearsal.
The covers are pulled up all the way to my shoulders, and I’m naked underneath them. Not my bed. The pillow smells like flowers and sugar, probably the reason I’m hard as a rock, because this scent…
