My life

Nightmare

MICAS POV

My run took far longer than I meant it to. What was supposed to be an hour turned into five, the night stretching endlessly around me as Jack and I tore through the land, burning off anger, fear, and the helplessness that still sat heavy in my chest. By the time I finally slowed, the moon was high and my body ached in that deep, satisfying way that meant I'd pushed myself to the edge. 

Even then, my thoughts never left her. 

Genevieve. 

The name wrapped around something soft inside me every time I thought it. Beautiful. Gentle. Strong in a quiet way. I didn't know how someone who'd been hurt so deeply could still exist with that kind of fragile light inside her, but she did. And the thought that she was alone at the house finally pushed me to turn back. 

As I neared the property, I detoured briefly to one of our hidden caches, pulling on clothes we kept scattered around the land for moments like this. Shifting left you with nothing, and preparedness was survival. Once dressed, I headed inside, my senses stretching instinctively for her presence. 

The first thing I noticed was the sound. 

A movie playing softly in the background. A scary one, by the tension in the music and the flashes of light on the walls. That alone surprised me. I'd expected quiet. Instead, I found Genevieve curled on the couch, fast asleep, the glow of the television washing over her pale face. 

She looked peaceful. 

Carefully, I moved to the kitchen, deciding to make myself something to eat. That's when I saw it—a plate in the sink. Clean. Used. 

Relief hit me harder than I expected. 

She'd eaten. Maybe not much, but enough to matter. Enough to be a step forward. I started cooking, letting the normal sounds ground me, when I heard her voice. Soft. Broken. Mumbling words I didn't need to fully understand to know what they meant. 

"No... no..." 

My heart clenched. 

I abandoned the stove and crossed the room in seconds. Her face was twisted in distress, her body tense even in sleep. Nightmares again. They haunted her relentlessly, dragging her back to places she shouldn't have to relive. Watching her suffer like this—unable to fight it—was agony. 

When her movements grew more frantic, I didn't hesitate. I lay down beside her on the couch, careful not to startle her awake, and wrapped an arm around her. Almost immediately, her body softened. The tension drained away, her breathing slowing as if my presence anchored her back to the present. 

I stayed like that for a long time, listening to her breathe, until I was certain the nightmare had passed. When I finally tried to stand, her fingers tightened in my shirt, holding me there. 

So that was that. 

Late dinner can wait
. 

---

GENEVIEVE POV

I woke slowly, pulled from sleep by a dull, unfamiliar sensation. Hunger. Real hunger. It startled me enough that I lay there for a moment, confused, listening to my stomach growl again as if to confirm it wasn't my imagination. 

It was dark. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the television. I realized I was still on the couch, the blanket pulled snug around me. For a split second, panic flickered had I been alone all this time? But then I smelled him. That grounding, steady scent that made my chest loosen just a little. 

I slipped off the couch and padded into the kitchen, moving carefully so I wouldn't make noise. The leftovers from breakfast were still there, but nothing about them felt right. I didn't want eggs. I didn't want fruit. I wanted something warm. Something comforting. 

I opened cabinets, searching without really knowing what I was looking for. I guess I was louder than I thought, because suddenly he was there. 

Mica. 

Fear spiked instantly. What if I wasn't supposed to eat this late? What if I was being greedy? I swallowed hard and whispered, "I'm hungry." 

His reaction shocked me. 

His eyes lit up, genuine excitement crossing his face like I'd just given him good news. Instead of annoyance, instead of hesitation, he smiled and told me to sit down. Asked me what I wanted. 

I didn't know how to answer that. I told him only what I didn't want breakfast food or fruit. I'd already had that today. He thought for a second, then asked if I liked mac and cheese. 

I almost laughed. 

I hadn't had that in so long I barely remembered what it tasted like. I nodded quickly, afraid he might change his mind. He moved around the kitchen with easy confidence, the sound of cooking filling the space with something warm and familiar. 

When he set the bowls down, I stared. Mine was huge. Way too much. There was no way I could finish it. I picked up my fork anyway and started eating slowly, savoring each bite. It tasted better than I remembered. Rich. Comforting. Safe. 

I noticed him watching me, careful and quiet, like he didn't want to distract me but also couldn't look away. It made me self-conscious, so I searched for something anything to change the subject. 

That's when I really noticed him. 

He was dressed nicely. Too nicely for the middle of the night. A suit, crisp and professional, like he belonged somewhere important. I asked him what time it was. 

"Three in the morning," he said casually. 

That startled me. I asked why he was dressed like that, and he explained he had a meeting early. The idea that he had responsibilities, a life, things he had to do beyond taking care of me made something twist in my chest. I didn't want to be in the way. 

We ate in silence after that. He finished his bowl easily. I only managed a few bites before my stomach tightened, full far too soon. I hated that feeling. Hated how weak it made me feel. I didn't want to disappoint him. 

Before I could force myself to eat more, he spoke gently. Told me I didn't have to finish. 

Relief washed over me so fast it made my eyes sting. 

Afterward, I curled back up on the couch and turned the TV back on, the quiet companionship of the moment settling over me. For the first time in a long while, hunger didn't feel like something to be ashamed of.