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Cornell folded his shaking knees to the floor beside the bed. “Ali. Ali, wake up.”
“Off,” she cried through grunts, her face twisting and turning in agony, snot bubbling at her nostrils as she heaved. “Please, stop.” Over and over, Ali begged and pleaded through her sobs, each one piercing Cornell’s heart, causing it to splinter so painfully he thought a piece might poke through his chest.
How many fucking times did she say stop? How many times did she beg? What kind of sick fuck could do this?
He wanted to shake her. Please stop, please stop. Hesitantly, he reached out to her shoulder, his fingertips lightly stroking her sweaty skin. “Ali—”
But Cornell couldn’t tell her to wake up again because Ali whipped her hand in his direction, backhanding him across the face. The blow stung and shocked him, making him lose his balance and knocking into the end table, sending the lamp to the floor. Mowgli circled and began to bark, and Cornell didn’t even realize Ali had stopped screaming when he tried to shush the dog.
By the time Cornell even realized what happened, Ali was sitting up in bed. “I… I… ” Her red-rimmed eyes met Cornell’s before they flew to her hand. “Oh my god,” she launched herself at him, scrambling into his lap. “I’m sorry,” she whispered hoarsely, her hands shaking as they cupped his face. “I’m so sorry.”
“Ali—”
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it.” Her trembling lips peppered kisses to his cheek, painting it with her tears. Cornell tried to pull back, but she clung to him, pressing her mouth harder against his skin.
Repeating her name louder, Ali startled, and regret soured his stomach. “Stop,” he said calmly, bringing his hands to her wrists. He gently moved his head back until it bumped against the end table, giving him just enough space to see her face. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”
They sat for a minute, Cornell afraid to move more than he already had, even though every fiber of his being was desperate to wrap his arms around Ali’s body that began to violently shake.
“I didn’t know,” she began, her voice a tortured whisper before she clamped her mouth and closed her eyes.
Cornell gently rubbed Ali’s wrists. “It was a nightmare.”
“It’s always a nightmare. Every single night.” Dropping her hands from his face, Ali began moving her head side to side as if to clear her vision—her seemingly constantly haunted vision.
“Every night?” he croaked, cupping the back of Ali’s head as it fell forward against him.
Her voice was so soft Cornell could hardly hear it. “You don’t always wake up.”
Cornell had to grit his teeth and tighten every muscle to prevent the sobs threatening to overtake his body. You don’t get to cry, he mentally scolded himself. Because every painful breath he took thinking about Ali wasn’t even close to what she felt.
This is adversity, he told himself. That’s what he would tell any one of his players struggling, their emotions boiling so hard beneath their skin they burst through at the most inopportune times. You pick yourself up because that’s what your team needs from you. And Ali, who clutched and clawed and cried against him, wasn’t just a teammate. She was the entire team.
Keep it together, Cornell, he told himself. But thebreath of Ali’s pain and fear seeping into his neck sliced repeatedly into Cornell’s skin like a million tiny paper cuts. The drops of blood were small individually, but collectively they drained Cornell, now a one-man team.
Man up.
He thought back to nearly twenty years ago when most of his conversations with his father were littered with words that mirrored his thoughts—“I don’t know any Crawford men who are weak,” his father would say when he hobbled off the field after being crushed by an opposing defender.
Don’t hobble now, Cornell. He tried to sit as straight as he could to avoid being pulled down further, not by Ali herself, who continued to hold onto him fiercely, but by everything pulling her down deep into the dark.
“I want it to stop,” Ali sobbed into his neck. “Please make it stop. Please,” she begged Cornell, grabbing at him as she repeated her ask over and over into his skin until all her words seemed to blend together in one harmony out of sync with his own pounding heartbeat.
Cornell sunk back down against the end table, cradling her.
Tell me how, he thought. Someone tell me what to do, please. God, tell me how to make this stop for her. I’ll do anything.
But all Cornell could do was hold Ali tight, and whisper into her ear that he would stand by her in the lonely darkness. He would wait until she made it safely out of her cocoon into the sunlight. And he continued to wait until Ali’s cries softened, her voice faded. He moved her back into bed and waited more, refusing to take his eyes off her as Mowgli snored at the foot of the bed and Ali’s soft, even breaths danced across Cornell’s skin as she slept.
Hours passed, the night nearing its end, but sleep never came for Cornell. Ali stirred beside him, her hand finally leaving its place on his chest, just over his heart.
And with the lights still on, he saw it—blood.
Cornell slipped out from beneath her and into the bathroom, swiping at the scratches littering his chest. He turned the shower on, the roar of water swallowing every painful cry he could no longer keep in as he washed the blood Ali drew trying to crawl out of her cocoon and into his—blood Cornell couldn’t feel leaving his body because he had been so focused on Ali’s own pain.
