Tethered (Book Two of The Invisible String Series)

Nightmares and New Traditions

(AN: This chapter mentions scars and physical harm brought on by an attack. Please read at your own risk!)

Y/N POV

"I am going to have so much fun with you..."

With a gasp I find myself sitting up in bed, chest heaving as cold sweat beads across my forehead and neck. My eyes automatically scan the room, trying to find any amount of danger that may be lurking in any of the dark corners. Of course, they don't find any and I feel my muscles relax when I realize that I am indeed in the familiar comfort of my bedroom, and not staring down the monsters of my nightmares.

Running my shaky hands over my face, I suck in a few lungfuls of oxygen as my senses come back to me. I haven't had a nightmare for a few weeks now, but I've become accustomed to living with them since the attack. My therapist says it's normal to have them, but I don't see what could possibly be normal about waking up in a cold sweat in the dead of night after reliving...everything. I'd much rather never experience any of that ever again, awake or asleep, but I know that's not happening any time soon.

Letting out a sigh, I let myself fall back against the pillows behind me and automatically reach a hand out towards the opposite end of the bed. My hand doesn't find the warmth of another body, like I'd been expecting to. Instead it finds empty and cold sheets, and my eyes snap open to see Lizzie's side of the bed vacant. Save for Nox, who's made herself comfortable on Lizzie's pillow and simply peers one eye open at me when I let out a groan.

I haven't been the only one who's suffering from an onslaught of bad dreams. I'm almost pretty sure that Lizzie has them more often than I do, because this has become a regular occurrence over the past few weeks. I wake up, whether it be from my own nightmares or in the rare form of a restful sleep, and Lizzie is gone. And she always plays it off when I find her, telling me that she's fine or some other lame excuse that I always see right through. But I haven't been able to bring myself to push her to talk about it, whatever she dreams of at night. Mostly due to the fact that every time I feel this encompassing guilt for putting her in that position to begin with, and also because those conversations usually end up with one or both of us angry and defensive.

With a glance over at my bedside table, where my alarm clock is sitting, I see that it's barely past three in the morning. And judging by how cold the other side of the bed is, Lizzie's been up for a while. Standing on wobbly legs that feel like jello, I force myself into the adjoining bathroom and over to the sink, knowing that I need to compose myself before I go and try to find my missing girlfriend. My hands grasp onto the edge and I let myself lean my full weight against it, head bent as I squeeze my eyes shut and attempt to push down the various flashes of memories that are racing through my head. After a few moments of steady breathing, I release the counter and flex my fingers, using the movement as a way to direct my anxiousness and turn on the tap. I splash my face a few times with cold water, thankful that the shock manages to calm me slightly.

Just as I reach for the hand towel hanging by the sink my eyes catch my reflection in the mirror. And the scar that's made its home above my left eyebrow.

I let my eyes roam over the area, stomach clenching uneasily as they trace the angry line. It honestly doesn't look as bad as it did a few weeks ago, when the stitches first came out. It's considerably less red and inflamed, as are the other two fairly-new scars hidden under my sleep shirt, and looks almost normal at this point. Well, save for the obvious way it's deformed my eyebrow, having been stitched back crooked. But it could look worse, and it does kinda go with the whole musician aesthetic. Or that's what Olivia's told me.

Tearing my eyes away from my reflection, because there's no use in standing here in the bathroom antagonizing myself over something that can't be changed, I make my way back into the bedroom and eventually out, shuffling down the stairs to try and find where Lizzie could have gone.