Sandman (Ceasefire #6) - Claire Marta Page 0,21
Eyes twinkling, a lock of hair tumbling onto his forehead. Nightmares is standing barefoot at the stove in a pair of faded blue jeans, bulging forearms flexing as he cooks. The material of his t-shirt strains to contain his muscled physique. The sound of the sizzling bacon strips makes my stomach rumble loudly. Morpheus pushes off from the counter he’s been perched against, giving me an appreciative once over. Stubbing out his cigarette, he stalks toward me.
“Hungry? I know I am,” he tells me with a suggestive leer, crowding me backward until my spine meets the doorframe. Bending forward, he teases my lips with his own. “How about we start with my tongue between your legs.”
Hands resting flat against his chest, I push him away firmly. “Starving for food.”
Nightmares turns at the sound of my voice, frying pan in hand and the contents he’s been cooking well cooked and crispy. In two strides, he’s beside the table, hooking the pieces onto a fork and dropping the greasy bacon strips into a high pile.
“I’m going to break my teeth on this,” Illusions complains, poking a piece with the tip of his fork glumly. “I don’t like it that crispy.”
Slamming the frying pan in the sink in annoyance, Nightmares swivels to bare his own in a gesture of aggression.
“Nightmares, this looks delicious, thank you,” I interrupt. Moving to sink into a seat, I help myself to an empty plate, aware of all eyes on me. Grabbing two slices of bread, three pieces of bacon, I make myself a sandwich. Taking a bite off the corner, I can’t stop myself from giving a hum of contentment. Perfectly salty, crunchy, exploding in all the right ways over my taste buds.
Black eyes flaring with approval, Nightmares juts his chin at the others at in the room. “Rubeen.”
“She just likes playing happy families.” Morpheus abandons his pretence at looking interested at the food, taking the free seat next to mine. “Even if it’s dysfunctional.”
“You all just need patience and a little understanding, that’s all,” I reply once I finish chewing. “It’s time you start listening to each other. Communication is the key. Shared therapeutic hobbies can be relaxing, like cooking, yoga, gardening, woodwork…”
“Do I look like someone who enjoys making birdboxes? What we all need is a good long, hard, fuck,” he mutters loudly enough to make me cough in shock.
Slicing him a look, I ignore his statement. “If I had the ingredients, I could show you how to make pancakes tomorrow for breakfast.”
“Pancakes?” Illusions repeats, eyes lighting up. “We can put it on the list for Uncle’s next supply drop and maple syrup! We’ve never been allowed to order anything before.”
My heart goes out to him at the innocent statement. “Well things need to change. Everyone gets to put something down on the grocery list, and we all get to live in the house. No more dank basements and living rough down on the beach.”
Morpheus gives a drawn-out sigh, scrubbing a hand tiredly over his face. “You have no idea how annoying these two clowns can be. We don’t get along.”
“How can you not get along? You’re the same person?”
“Trust me, you’ll see soon enough,” he grumbles.
“I’ll write up a chore chart tomorrow.” Reaching for another slice of bread, I help myself to another few slices of bacon.
Illusions groans. “Chores?”
“The whole house needs love and attention,” I point out. “And if four of us are living here, we need to split them up so one person doesn’t get stuck doing them all. Some of the rooms are under a thick layer of dust. The outside needs to be spruced up, windows repainted, wooden panels on the porch repaired.”
Nightmares drops into the chair opposite. For a while, we eat in companionable silence. From the wary expressions the men wear, it’s something they aren’t used to. Morpheus told me they’ve spent centuries tearing each other apart. How long will this uneasy truce continue? Can I really help him break the cycle of drowning in a tidal wave of guilt, regret, and pain? What they are going through isn’t simple. It’s physical, emotional, and mental.
Wiping my greasy fingers on a napkin, I push my empty plate away. “I’m curious; does this island have a name?”
“The Isle of Lemnos. Although we’re part of the Underworld, we aren’t bothered by those who live there.” Illusions speaks up between bites of his sandwich. “Morpheus governs this island…not that there’s anyone else living on it apart from us.”
“The Underworld? As in Greek