Warning: Lots of mature content and strong language ahead. Read at your own risk. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
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Love is a messy, painful ordeal. Amelia Harold knew this all too well.
After all, she did fall in love...
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Ethan tried to throw off his comforter, the fabric prickling his skin as if it had come to life, strangling him but his muscles didn't respond.
He focused on his unmoving hand, resting over the white of the comforter. He imagined his fingertips moving, tried to bring his imagination to life but it didn't work.
And how could it when he could see his father so clearly, standing at the edge of the bed, glaring at Ethan. He felt as if he was six again, powerless and pathetic.
He felt the sweat blinding on the back of his neck, felt as the droplets trickled down his bare back. He closed his eyes and counted the seconds in his head, trying to remind himself that he was safe.
A nightmare couldn't hurt him.
Seconds melted into minutes before Ethan felt sensation flooding back to his nerves. He sat upright with a choked gasp, clawing at his throat for oxygen.
He reached for the switchboard, turning the lights on. He grabbed the jug from the side table with shaky hands only to find it empty.
"Fuck," he groaned and the jug slipped from his hands, shattering into a million pieces on the floor.
He gritted his teeth and glared at the mess he'd made.
He got down from the bed carefully, criss crossing his way through the glass as he made his way towards the door.
Something sharp pricked his feet but he ignored it, navigating his way to the kitchen through the darkness.
He could walk through this place with his eyes closed, aware of the tiniest details by now like the slightly off kilted ottoman or the sharp edge of the book shelf.
He felt the walls until his fingers touched the switch board and he flipped it on.
"Oh, fuck," he whispered, still on edge as Amelia came into view.
Despite how many times he had imagined her roaming the halls of his home like she belonged here, the real sight still left him breathless.
She stared at him with wide eyes, full of wonder and things Ethan found himself unable to see. Her hair was disheveled, haphazardly tied into a bun that stuck to the top of her head with only a few last strands. He noticed the way her shirt hung around her body, leaving so much to his imagination.
There was something so vulnerable and intimate seeing her in his kitchen, her guard so down she looked like an entirely different person.
He allowed himself to wonder what could have been if he could allow her to stay here forever.
But then his night terror came rushing back and he dismissed the thought as quickly as it had invaded his head. He couldn't let anyone see him like this.
