𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐦𝐞 | ✔

sɪxᴛʏ ɴɪɴᴇ

WELCOME BACK MY LIL DREAMERS <3

(Also, bahaha, 69. if devi were ready I would have totes written a 69 ((jk) or am I?))

read. comment. vote. 

without further adieu, I present to you the next chapter...

༼ つ ◕_◕ ༽つ

DEVI BHATT

Speechless.

My cheeks are stained dry with tears as I battle the aftermath of another nightmare. Nausea is crashing into me like waves and I have to press my knuckles to my lips to stop the nausea turning into me actually vomiting. The beating organ in my chest thumps unnaturally fast and unnaturally loud, the roar of blood getting louder with each passing second in this silence.

The bed sheets rustle under me as my legs become restless and I have to sit up with my head against the headboard, digging into the wood. They just don't go. They're relentless. A shiver creeps up my spine as I realise Grisha isn't next to me.

Where is he? What if he got annoyed and tired of me?

The empty silence is a wide-open gateway for this trail of plague-like thoughts. My fingers dig into my scalp, trying to find some reprieve from what I can feel now.

Hands. Too many hands. I can feel big cold hands on my body, wrapping around my neck, my ankles, my wrist trapping me in the confines of a body that doesn't even feel like mine anymore. They squeeze me suffocatingly as if my death is all that matters.

How do you fight to live when everyone wants you dead? Everyone doesn't want me dead but my mind tells me otherwise.

The door swings open and I yelp loudly before I realise it's Grisha. Grisha, who has a piece of toast in his mouth... in the middle of the night.

He slowly registers my state, realisation filling his irises.

"Fuck," he curses.

He's at my side in an instant fulfilling my need for him, the feelings he brings me after these nightmares. My stomach is tumbling with the instilled fear of another nightmare if he leaves.

I'm too frozen to move to him or move anywhere.

"I..." my throat is raspy, "I can't move. Pomoshch'. Eto vezde." (help. It's everywhere)

"It's okay, baby," he says, pained. "It's okay. Can I touch you?"

I nod and he first covers my hand with his, trying to uncurl my fingers from my hair as he threads his fingers through my hair, massaging lightly. His face is mere inches away as his grey eyes stare into mine, into my soul, weaving every broken bit of me back together.

I used to think it was impractical for relying on someone else to make you whole again. But, I realise, it's not relying on them when they're just giving you the love you were deprived of all along.

Raising my hands, he kisses the inside of both of my palms– his touch, overpowering everything plaguing my body. He lifts my body, by hooking two arms under my body, and then I find myself in his arms, my head against his chest.

The sound of his heart echoes in my ears. It's slower than mine.

"Breathe slow," he says softly. "Breathe slowly with me."

We breathe in for four seconds, hold for seven, release for eight. He does it with me. I do it with him. We do it together until I can finally feel the silence.