good five minutes of repeating the motion and words over and over again for her to settle. For her breathing to even out and her body to relax.
Her skin is clammy, shirt damp with the perspiration her overwrought nervous system has caused. Thick tendrils of her hair are stuck along the wet line of her neck and I can feel the quick, heavy thud of her heart beating in her chest.
“We good?”
Exhaling shakily, she nods quickly, the rest of her body as still as a statue.
Seconds pass before the realization of our position hits us both. Plastered against one another, there’s little for our imagination. She can feel every inch of me, in the same way, I feel every soft curve of hers.
Another beat and then she moves, shifting quickly out of my space and the warmth my body was offering hers.
I stand, watching her cautiously. “Gonna get you some water.”
She refuses me eye contact, grabbing at the nearest cushion to pull it tightly against her chest. Her knuckles are white with the pressure of her hold on the cotton, taut muscles spasming in an uncontrollable form of shock.
I’m no stranger to nightmares. To the memories that haunt my dreams and rob me of the peace I so desperately crave. It’s taken me years, almost twenty to be exact, but I’ve taught myself how to overcome that oppressive panic that seizes you. That forces you to believe you’re close to dying.
The way Camryn feels right now.
I can see her from the kitchen entryway, frozen in place. The quick sharp movements of her shoulders dancing with every harsh breath her body pulls in.
Moving back toward her, her big blue eyes look up at me through wet lashes, her hand reaching for the glass stretched toward her.
Her hand shakes the glass involuntarily as mine pulls away, but her free hand steadies the tremor, clutching on to pull it to her lips. Her throat moves in quick succession to swallow the entire contents in seconds and I watch on in silence.
She hands the glass back without a word. Wiping the back of her hand across her mouth, she removes the droplets that escaped in her haste to rehydrate herself.
“Why are you helping me?” she bites out.
Generalizations are the assholes of the world. Attached to everyone you see, nothing but an avenue to pour shit on the world. Most people look at me and decide I’m a selfish motherfucker who would step on my own mother to get what I wanted. They look at the cold glint in my eyes and decide that I’m unfeeling.
“I’m no stranger to being woken by past experiences that feel the need to haunt me in sleep,” I reply. “And as much as you don’t want to believe it, I do have a fucking heart.”
“I know that,” she rushes out gently.
I raise an eyebrow, a small smirk playing at the corner of my lips.
“I’m a nurse. Everyone has a heart.” She looks embarrassed. “Even the people on the planet who don’t deserve to breathe.”
I dip my chin in agreement, not entirely confident that comment was directed at me, but also, not entirely confident it wasn’t either.
“Hearts don’t determine if you’re a good person or not. It’s your soul.”
My head moves back slightly in shock. “You work in the medical field and you believe we have a soul?”
She nods. “I have to. Otherwise, I have to contemplate that we’re just vessels, all capable of evil.”
“You don’t think you’re capable of hurting someone?”
I watch the line of her throat swallow thickly. “I know I am,” she whispers. “And it scares me more than anything else in this world.”
I let my eyes drift over her face in the span of three blinks. My mind trying to understand this highly complex woman.
“Let’s watch a movie,” I offer, unsure what else to say. “It always helps me relax back into sleep.”
She nods quickly. “I just need the bathroom.”
She wanders back into the living room fifteen minutes later, a small limp in her step.
“You okay?”
She nods easily. “Jabbed my thigh against the corner of the vanity.”
I watch her settle onto the couch, a small grimace of discomfort on her face. “Need an ice pack?”
She shakes her head. “What movie did you choose?”
I press play, relaxing into the couch.
“Superbad.” She smiles. “I fucking love this movie.”
Her voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it. Not exactly a whisper, more a hesitant murmur. It’s disconcerting. Camryn Rein throws words like daggers, aiming to maim in a poor