After Felix - Lily Morton Page 0,75

need to shout.”

“This is epic,” I say in a happy tone that’s designed to aggravate. “Shall we tell stories in the dark?”

“Of course,” he says darkly. “Mine will be about this naughty boy called Felix who got spanked in a train carriage.”

“How very public school of him,” I say cheerily, and he snorts.

“Well, if sex is off the table, we should get some sleep.”

“That’s it?” I say in a tone of astonishment. “Those are the only two things you can think of to do in bunk beds? Sleep or fuck. What happened to tickling and pillow fights and boyish pranks?”

“Goodnight, Felix,” he says in a tone of doom, and I laugh.

It takes me a while to fall asleep, as my thoughts keep me busy, so it feels like I’ve only been asleep for a few minutes when something wakes me.

I raise my head off the pillow and listen intently. For a second, there’s nothing, and then it comes again. A stifled whimper and a moan.

“Max?” I whisper.

There’s no response apart from a low, pained groan. I clutch the sheets, listening intently. The noise comes again, lonely and tortured. I scramble out of bed and down the wooden ladder before I even realise it.

I lean over him cautiously. His face is illuminated by the dim light in the carriage. Sweat sheens his forehead, and he grimaces.

“No,” he says. “Don’t.”

I’m immediately reminded of the time he’d been dreaming fitfully and had called Ivo’s name. I step back, but at that moment he shouts, “Felix, no,” and goes rigid. I hover, wondering what to do. He calls out “Felix” again, his voice entreating.

“I’m here, Max,” I say immediately.

He opens his eyes cautiously. “Felix?”

I come close now he’s awake and set a hand on his shoulder. He closes his eyes, as if in pain.

“Bad dream?” I ask, far too much tenderness in my voice.

His only response is to wind his arm around me and rest his head against my shoulder like a child. I’m filled with an awful softness and hug him close. I may even kiss his head, but I’ll deny it to my death.

“It’s okay,” I say gently.

“It was horrible,” he says in a muffled voice.

“What was it?” I scooch up on the bed next to him, and he makes a protesting sound.

“I was back in that cell in Afghanistan with Ivo.” When I stiffen, he exclaims, “It’s cold, darling. Get in. Get in.”

I obey his urging, although I can’t help the rigidity of my body. Great. Now I’ve got to hear all about Ivo. However, he’s toasty warm, and I only realise how cold I am when he folds me under the blankets and wraps his arm around me.

“Is this okay?” There’s something small in his voice that I can’t bear.

Cursing myself, I turn in his arm, feeling the cast rough on my skin. “What was the dream? Was it Ivo again? I remember …” I falter, and his arm tightens for an instant. “I remember you having that dream on the boat once.” I give a careless laugh. “The funny thing is you kept saying Ivo, and I thought it was a place. Not a…” I hesitate for a second. “Not a person. Your person.”

“Shit,” he says and shakes his head when I go to move. “Don’t go,” he pleads. “Please stay.”

His body is slick with sweat. “Hey,” I say, stroking his hair back. “It’s alright. You’re here, and you’re alright, and Ivo is alright too.”

“It wasn’t Ivo,” he says, snuggling into me and resting his head on my shoulder. The tremors in his body are slowly leaving. “It was you.”

“What?” I say, and it’s far too loud.

He nods, burying his nose in my shoulder and inhaling deeply as if taking my scent in. “It was you, and they had you, and I knew they were going to hurt you, and I couldn’t stop it, and I heard you cry out, and I felt—”

“Shush,” I croon, feeling his muscles stiffen and pulling him closer. “Shush, Max. It’s all okay. I’m here. You’re here.”

“Yes,” he says in a desperate tone. “But it’s not real.”

There’s too much of a question in his voice. The nightmare has spun cobwebs over him and he’s still half asleep.

“It’s real,” I say firmly. “Pinch me if you don’t believe me.”

“I always believe you,” he says, his voice hoarse and slurring with returning sleep. “You always tell me the truth.”

“Not always,” I say softly. He doesn’t know that I still have feelings for him. He doesn’t know