beautiful thieves | ✓

forty-one

Blake

I open the door as quietly as possible, turning the handle and pushing through without a creak. I worry that she might be awake, like she is almost every night, but as I take one step into the room, I see that Aurora is dead to the world. She's buried under her duvet, blonde and red hair splayed out across the pillow and her breathing quiet and steady. Nights worth of crippling fear and torturous memories must have finally exhausted her. I know the feeling too well.

I step further into the room to switch off the lamp on her bedside table, and I can't help but brush my fingertips over the back of her hand. She twitches and I freeze, but it's the only movement she makes. It's as if she knows it's me.

As if she knows she's safe.

I massage my fingers into my shoulder as I leave the room, the muscles tight and sore along with every limb and joint and muscle I have. It could be worse, I remind myself. It could always be worse.

I don't know why I feel like I need to check up on Aurora, but I do. It's no secret that I've grown to care about her, everyone has gathered that by now, and I can't seem to help myself. Even if she's right there in front of me, brightening the room as she laughs with Maeve or jokes around with Jayden, I sneak one look over at her to reassure myself that she's not on the floor being beaten by that prick. I know exactly what losing Aurora would feel like. It would hurt just as much as when I lost Hattie, maybe even more, or when I was set on fire.

Everyone says that you can't remember pain. Well I fucking do. I remember fighting for my life as the gasoline licked at my skin. I remember yelling as the flames crawled up my arm like a disease, cutting into my flesh and boiling my blood until I was pleading for death. I was practically begging, yelling for them to stop. Telling Storm to just fucking shoot me. I'd rather have my brains dripping out of my head at that moment. Until my throat was ripped and my soul was burning and I finally passed out, only to be brought back to life.

I feel a shake on my shoulder and hear a voice in the distance. Only it's not in the distance. It's Jayden, stood right in front of me. "Bro, snap out of it."

"Shit," I mutter, swallowing the chunk trapped in my throat. "Thanks."

"No worries." He gives my shoulder a pat. "Flashback?"

I nod.

"Well, I have the perfect remedy," he smirks. He pulls out a bottle of cider, seemingly out of nowhere. "Alcohol never fails to get me out of that shit. A bunch of us are drinking downstairs. Wanna join?"

"Why not?"

I start to follow him down the stairs, taking a swig of the cider. Instantly I feel my shoulders relax and the flashback fades into a distant memory.

"I'll tell you why not, man," he says, amusement in his voice. "Claudia's down there."

I groan, almost walking back up the stairs. "Claudia?"

Jayden turns to face me, walking backwards. "I wouldn't worry, though. She was flirting with Zavier before I left to fetch your ass."

"She flirts with everyone," I deadpan, taking another drink. "She would not leave me alone earlier. I would've reminded her that it was her who cheated on me if she let me get a word in."

"She hasn't flirted with me. Maybe I'm not manly enough."

"You do like to steal the girl's dresses and wear them around the house."

"Hey, don't go all toxic masculinity on me." He nudges me in the side. "You used to join in."

"That's true, I did," I say. "I looked fucking good in them, too."