Razor Sharp | ✓

Twenty-Two

♡♡♡

"You can't escape me," Andy growls, lunging forward with a knife.

"Please," I beg. "Please don't do this."

"You killed him. You killed Hunter."

"No, no! I wouldn't do that—"

"It's your fault, it's always your fault," Andy says, finally drawing the knife back to plunge into my stomach.

I jolt awake with a scream. I pull the blanket up over my knees, wrapping my arms around them. I rest my head against the blanket, soaking it with my tears. The sobs won't stop.

The nightmares are increasing. Not only are they becoming more frequent, but they are also becoming worse. I bury my head further into the blanket, to the point of pain when my knees start to dig into my cheek.

I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping it'll stop the tears from flowing. "Calm down," I whisper to the darkness. "Calm down. You're okay. You're going to be—"

The door squeaks open and my head shoots up. The door opens wider and at first, I can't tell who it is. It's too dark to see the figure, except for the outline of his body.

"Hunter?" I whisper, wiping my wet cheeks.

"Ellie," he whispers back, closing the door behind him. "Are you alright?"

"Just a nightmare."

I turn, hanging my legs off the mattress, mimicking the way Hunter sits down next to me. When I look over at him, his eyes are on my face. After a while, once my eyes have adjusted to the light, I can see his face perfectly.

"It's nothing I'm not used to."

"You have them a lot?" he asks, sounding concerned.

"Nearly every night," I admit, and then wish I could take it back straight away.

"Are they always as bad as the one you just had?"

"Yeah."

"What was your nightmare about?"

"Oh..."

I don't really want to tell him the truth. I don't want him to realise that I care about him a lot.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," he says, lying back on the mattress, hands behind his head.

"It's just..."

What do I even say? It was about you. Dying? I was screaming and sobbing because something that wasn't even real, made me realise that I could have actually lost you the other day?

"You," I finally admit.

"What?" he whispers, sitting up again.

"It was about you," I say, lacing my fingers together. I cross my legs, brushing against his thigh. I look down at my lap, gulping. "It was about you dying. I...I think that...well your father... was telling me over and over that I killed you."

"El..." he says, his voice filled with concern. He reaches for one of my hands and laces our fingers together.

"How did you get out of bed anyway?" I ask him.

"With great difficulty," he grins but then suddenly grows serious. "But that isn't the point. As soon as I heard you screaming, I panicked. I thought...I thought he was hurting you...again."

"Are you in pain?" I ask. "From getting out of bed?"

He laughs quietly, sounding angry. "God, no. Getting out of that bed isn't the reason for my pain," he says, looking directly into my eyes. "Seeing you hurt is the reason I feel pain."

"I don't want that," I frown. "I don't want to be the reason you are hurting."

"You aren't," he reassures me. "It isn't even your fault. I care about you. That's why I hate seeing you hurt. Your pain is my pain."

His words make my stomach flip, erupting into a million butterflies once again.

"So you aren't in any pain, physically?"

He shakes his head, smiling sadly at me. His hair falls into his eyes and before I realise what I'm doing, I reach out and brush it away, tucking it behind his ear.

My breathing is starting to become more erratic because of our close proximity. I need to move further away, but I can't find the strength to do it.

"No, I'm not in any physical pain," he says, lightly drawing circles on my bare thigh with his fingers. "But why are you still looking out for me when I've hurt you so many times?"

"I care about you too," I whisper, cupping his cheek.

I scoot closer to him, almost sitting on his lap. I trace his sharp jawline and he shivers. I bring my finger up to his cheek, around his thick eyebrows, over his closed eyelids and down to his lips. I brush his bottom lip and I feel his breathing increase. He parts them softly, kissing my thumb gently.

I can't take this anymore. I've been holding back for too long and it's driving me crazy. So what if we can't be together? For now, living in this moment is enough.

I climb onto his lap and Hunter instantly wraps his arms around my back, pulling me closer. I'm flat against his chest, staring into his vibrant blue eyes as he brings his hands under the back of my pyjama top. I shiver, my breathing increasing.

I move to his lips and kiss him, lightly. His lips part, a groan leaving his throat. I push further against him and he falls back on the mattress as I straddle his stomach. He kisses me intensely, clasping the back of my head with his hands. His tongue enters my mouth and I moan quietly, the pit of my stomach on fire.

"Fuck," he breathes as I pull away from our kiss, resting my hands on his stomach. I lift his t-shirt over his head. I run my hand over his sculptured body, before leaning in to kiss him again.

He removes my own top, pulling me further against him. He starts to kiss down my jaw and then back up to my mouth slowly. We pull away to catch our breath, and I lean my forehead against his. "Will you stay with me? Just for tonight?" I ask, lying down next to him. He lays on his side, facing me.

He wraps his arms around me as I lay my head against his chest. "Of course."

I gulp, wishing I was stronger. If I was, I would tell Hunter to leave, to stay away from me. But I can't hurt him. I don't want to hurt him.

"You know we can't—" my voice catches. "We can't do this again, right?"

He kisses the top of my head, sighing quietly. He runs a hand up my arm, raising goosebumps. "Yeah," he whispers. "I know."

"You're a Razor, Hunter. I'm a Skull."

"I know that, Ellie. I know we can't—I know we can never be...anything. You don't have to tell me. You don't have to keep reassuring yourself that you're making the right decision."

Is that what I'm doing? Am I trying to justify why I can't be with him? Am I trying to make it easier on myself by bringing up the fact that it will never work out?

"Get some sleep."

Before I can even respond, I hear his breathing change. He's already asleep. I wish it could be that easy for me. At least he's sleeping next to me. I'm not sure if I will still get nightmares, but at least he will be here to comfort me.

For once, I finally feel like I might get a good night's sleep.