Nicco

Ch. 15: Nightmare

ARIA

In the thick of sleep, my teeth clench as I struggle to wake up. My hand darts downward, clutching frantically at my bare stomach. Fingertips search for signs of damage across flesh.

To my relief, there's no wound there.

No blood.

The only wetness I feel is on my cheeks.

Am I crying?

Fuck.

My eyelids fling open in the dark. Every pulse is still thrumming with adrenaline. Skin feels clammy and cold. It felt so real. As always with my dreams, they're terrifying and disorienting as hell. They feel like trippier versions of my memories. Some parts stem from the crazy shit that actually happened to me. Other parts are nothing but a merciless mind-fuck.

I blink a few times to ground myself back in reality. In front of me, city lights twinkle beyond a wall of panoramic glass windows. Taking in a deep breath, I try to focus on my immediate surroundings.

Bed.

Dresser.

Walls.

Paintings.

"Aria?" Nicco's voice drifts toward me. "Are you alright?"

No.

I'm not alright.

I feel like my sanity is about to freefall over a fucking cliff. I've never had one of these dreams with someone sleeping beside me. I'm mortified about being caught by Nicco. Of all people. I glance over, and green eyes find mine in the shadows. When I don't reply, a deep, worried crease appears between his brow.

He prompts again, "Bad dream?"

Unable to speak, I merely nod. I've kept quiet about my demons for so long. I don't even know how to voice them aloud anymore. I have no one to talk to about this shit. Maya is gone. She was the only one who understood me. Because she was the only other student whom Jaime tormented at Hawkins.

My heart twists with grief and anger. I miss Maya so much. I hate Jaime for taking her away from me. For everything he put us through.

I'm certain that Jaime targeted us because we were scholarship students. He knew, with no money or power tied to our last names, Maya and I were helpless to fight back.

Nicco orders softly, "Come here."

His voice lures me from my distress. Nicco's arm slides around my waist, drawing me to his chest, and I don't resist the pull. I do just the opposite, in fact. During this moment of weakness, my body melds into his larger frame. It feels good to have Nicco beside me. Again, he makes me feel... safe. Just like that night after happy hour.

For a while, he simply holds me. The intimate silence between us calms my tightly-wound nerves. His fingertips trace light, airy shapes along my back. I bury my face into the crook of his neck, seeking comfort. Nicco's skin smells woodsy. Masculine. My gaze flicks toward his lips. I want to kiss him, but I resist the impulse. I don't think he wants me to kiss him anymore, and I'm still hurt about him pulling away earlier even though, technically, I was the one who suggested that we stick to fucking and nothing else.

I guess be careful what you wish for is the moral of the story here.

To my surprise, Nicco's arms tighten around me, clutching me even closer, and I feel the brush of his lips on my temple. It's soft. Soothing. My breath catches. His affection feels very welcome, and I'm ridiculously pleased about the fact that he kissed me. Even if it wasn't on the mouth. Even if he's only kissing me out of pity.