SLEEPSONG (BoyxBoy)✔️

Chapter 157

Chapter One Hundred and Fifty Seven

The yelling was insane.

I could hear another fight echoing through the house as if propelled through the floors to where we lay by an enhanced speaker system.

Horst fell asleep fairly easily despite the noise and despite what had happened, and nobody really bothered us, either, so for the most part I just ended up lying in that huge bed all day listening to his open-mouthed snores and the loud, muffled arguments wreaking havoc on and off downstairs.

Woody was sitting on the floor beside the door where he'd been all day, an open book in his hands, reading and keeping watch. Jak had also stirred a few times throughout the afternoon but he'd remained unconscious long after the sun had set. His exterior wounds hadn't taken very long to heal but I still found myself worrying about his neck.

The idea of a broken one being something trivial was absurd.

I tossed and I turned, wondering about Jak, wondering what was happening downstairs, wondering if everyone was okay and if Sebastian was being properly taken care of.

Wondering so I wouldn't have to wonder what was really in the box under my bed.

A stab went through me and I curled a little more as a chill ran prickled across the nape of my neck. A sudden tapping on the floor, the sound of fingernails against wood, drew my gaze and I saw brilliant green irises ogling me.

I fought to bury my emotions, fought to hide what was welling up from within, fought to avoid thinking.

"Something up?" I asked, voice raspy with disuse; his eyes gleamed and he tilted his head, hair catching in his growing beard with the movement.

A single hand rose.

Signed.

'For a moment... you smelled like anguish. Are you all right?'

I looked at his fingers, thinking about his question, thinking about everything I'd been through this month.

Attacks. Anger. Being stabbed... and then the entire fiasco with Jasper replacing everybody's memories... and worst of all, my little sister--

"I'm fine," I whispered, cutting the thought off in its tracks; he stared more intently, brows furrowing in concern as I buried the feelings swirling in my stomach and chest back, walling them in and preventing them from breaking through the surface of my features. "I'm okay."

He wasn't convinced. Not at all. He, like the rest of his kind, could smell, and hear, and sense when a person was lying or wasn't even okay. He could probably even smell the changes in my body because of my raging emotions, or hear minute changes in my pulse as the lie left my lips.

I wasn't great at dealing with people's worry.

More than that... I hated being the reason for the worry.

It was something I'd known about myself for a very long time, something I'd fought to avoid at all costs, but it hadn't really bothered me since I'd known everyone was good at some things and bad at others. One of the things I was bad at just happened to be... dealing with my emotions when they really needed to be dealt with. I always ended up feeling guilty for being sad.

I only ended up guilty on top of miserable when my negative feelings made people worry.

So, early on... I'd learned to hide when I was hurting, really hurting, and act like I was okay. I'd smiled and gone about my business, even if I was breaking apart, to avoid dragging people into my business. I didn't understand this part of myself.