Tempting Adeline

16

ADELINE

“No.”

“Excuse me? After all my pleadings, I get a no?” I said exasperatedly. The asshole is even grinning. Who even does that?

“You should prove to me why I need you as my muse and maybe convince me enough.” He shrugged, and then bit into the apple he took from the fruit basket after he washed it in the sink. “You seem stressed; need a massage or a velvet cookie?”

I sighed, turning to my room. There was no point arguing and he didn’t come after me, not that I was expecting him to, but yeah, I did expect at least something. He was already warming up to me.

I texted Markie and she replied almost immediately. She said something about work and a certain job she’s working on that’s weird as f**k but I needed company so I filled her up everything that has been going on in my life for the past few days. I poured out everything to her and she just listened. I haven’t heard her voice much, just a few times but they are enough to assure me that she’s my biggest supporter right now.

MARKIE: Well, make sure you get some rest tonight. Let that beautiful brain of yours decompress. I’m sure you packed in a lot today.

ADELINE: Oh, I plan to.

I did my nightly routines and climbed into bed and closed my eyes trying to sort through my racing thoughts. He was supposed to agree to this. I planned this. I even gave him a mutual benefit. I shuddered at the thought of going back to Wesley to beg him for this. Clearly, this doesn’t matter to him at all.

All these thoughts plunge me into a light fitful sleep.

Then it happened.

I struggled to breathe, plunging into the water again. My hands flap around me struggling for someone to see me and pull me out. I was underwater, and if I opened my mouth, all the water would rush in, and I would die. That was what I was told.

Tears trickled down my eyes, but the water swallowed them and buried my panic until it was just me and my silent pleas. I’m never getting out, never getting out, never getting out.

“Help!” I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I screamed, screamed as loud as my lungs allowed, screamed until my throat hurt and was raw and till I felt like I would pass out, or maybe that the water rushing in, filling my chest. So much water. Everywhere. And no air. Not enough air. I thrashed my arms and legs in hope that it would help but it didn’t. It made me sink faster. Then I was pulled out of the water.

An invisible presence pining me down, stealing the air from my lungs but I managed to cough out some water. My muscles lock and my throat tightens. I tried opening my eyes but they are blurry flashes. My hands twitch, fingers curling as they lay useless by my side.

A familiar laughter echoed above me. From the rasps and deep octaves, it’s a man.

I can’t see him. I never can. There is no face to hate, no voice to recognise. My body reacts violently, terror shooting down my spine in waves so strong.

And the smell.

God, the smell.

Something bitter and chemical passes through my nose. It coats my tongue, crawls down my throat and makes me lighter, almost feeling like I’m in Nimbus. Laughter from men and tearing of fabric were the only sounds I heard that reminded me of my terrible situation.

Then I woke up.

I jolt upright with a gasp, air tearing into my lungs like I’ve been drowning. My hands fly to my body checking myself for anything. My clothes were damp from sweat, other than that, I appeared fine. Safe.Clothed.

My heart refuses to slow. It keeps racing, wild and panicked, even as my brain insists that there is nothing wrong.

Everything is as I left it and I’m clothed too. I swing my legs out of the bed, planting my feet on the floor, steadying myself. I try to remember the dream but it fades. I can’t even recall a thing, just water.

I press my palms to my temples, breathing slowly, counting each inhale like I’ve been taught. My body still feels wrong so I give myself a hug, arms wrapping tight around my torso.

The glowing red letters of my alarm clock told me it was four twelve am.

A pinprick of dread blossomed at the base of my neck and slithered down my spine. I researched about this before and it appears that in Chinese culture, it’s known as the Organ clock and 3am to 5am is lung hour. They are associated with grief, loss, unprocessed sorrow and so on.

I’ve never been a superstitious person but chills swamped me every time I awoke from one of my nightmares during the four am hour once a week in four months each. Today happened to fall earlier than the date I predicted. It’s just like a monthly cycle to me now because people I’ve lived with complained how I screamed, sometimes sleep walked and even carry stuffs and move them elsewhere, which is rare by the way.

The commonest one would be when I choked and found it difficult to breathe that I thrashed in bed.

Since I moved in here, I haven’t had any episodes because Markie prescribed some chamomile tea so it helped me. I could manage without Wesley who used to watch me and help me when I get those episodes. He would go with me to therapy sessions so he knew this.

I walked out of the bedroom to make my tea when I heard the soft patter in footsteps in the hall. The owner is trying not to wake anyone up.

I walked to the kitchen and flicked on the lamp to see Croix by the counter sipping something from a tea cup. I glanced at the bag of Chamomile on the counter and breathed in the floral, apple-like scent.

“You’re awake?” I managed to speak, not trying to look awkward. I get insecure about my nightmares. He regarded me for a while before pouring a cup of chamomile tea for me. “Here. I couldn’t sleep so I made this. Looks like you need a cup.”

“Thanks.” I said quietly, collecting the cup from him. My hands trembled so much liquid spilled over the side of the mug and dripped onto my shirt from high school.

“You should go back to sleep. The tea usually works on insomnia and mild cases of lack of sleep.”

“f**k that.” Croix raked a hand through his messy hair. “I’m already up. Besides, it’s almost five. I’ll leave if your boyfriend comes out.” His tone lowers at the ‘boyfriend’. Does he have beef with Wes?

I mustered a weak smile, looking behind to check if he’ll come out. He knows about my sleep pattern and nightmares. “I don’t think he’s coming,” I said quietly after I downed the liquid and wiped my mouth with my sleeve.

Croix looks behind me then back at me. “Sure. Shitty boyfriend.” He muttered as he washed the cups and placed them in the cupboard. He was about to leave the kitchen.

“Can I please stay with you?” I blurted out. I need someone to comfort me at this time, some human warmth. “I won’t intrude. Think of me as a log of wood.”

“Sure, why not?” He said quietly.

I entered his room. It wasn’t what I was expecting. It was clean, neat and arranged. The tones were neutral and the interior designs were lit. There wasn't much, just a walk-in closet, a desk for his computers and his gaming equipment, a shelf filled with books and a nightstand with a book turned facing down on it. He must have been reading and I disturbed him with my sounds.

“Are you going to keep standing there?”

I didn’t notice he was already undressed, stripped down to nothing and in the covers already. It wasn’t like I haven’t seen anything but nevertheless; I entered the covers and lay facing the door. “Your room isn’t what I was expecting.”

“Yeah, me too.”

I pulled the covers up to my chin, trying to fall asleep again but he pulled me closer to him, with my back against his chest and soon after, his warmth and scent lured me to sleep.