I Know What You're Afraid Of

Chapter 13

Miles woke up in his own bed, in his own house. He did not feel the least bit relieved. He wasn't sure he ever wanted to go back. The only thing keeping him there was - "Miles! Wake up it's already noon." That voice. That small, hyper, happy voice he thought he'd never hear in person again. His pride and joy, his only happiness that had been ripped away from him. But she was there. Clear as day. So close, he could reach out and wrap his arms around her, which he did.

"What was that for?" She giggled. That giggle was music to his ears. His favorite song. One he'd play over and over and never get sick of hearing. His one weakness. The smile on her face jumped to his, the corners of his lips denting his chiseled cheeks.

" What, I can't hug my favorite girl? Fine. I guess I'll never hug you again, if that's how you want it." Miles joked, playfully folding his arms in an offended manner.

The small girl giggled once again. "You're lying! You love giving me hugs, Milo" Ouch. He hadn't heard that one in a while. When she was younger, she couldn't pronounce his name right. So, she called him Milo.

"Oh. Am I?" He challenged. "Try me." The little girl crawled towards him and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him with all the strength her tiny arms could muster. She laughed loudly as she pushed Miles onto his side. Miles held his arms above his head while the small girl latched onto his waist. An idea popped into his head. Miles pried her arms from his waist, pushed her onto her back, and began to tickle her. Her light giggles filled the room while she yelled for him to stop. He laughed along with her until she couldn't take it anymore. He scooted away from her, letting her catch her breath.

"Come on, Milo. Miss. Jessel said lunch is ready." she grabbed his hand dragging him off his bed and out the door. Miles followed close behind her. He was caught off guard when her small figure whipped around and grabbed onto both his legs almost making him trip. "You weren't serious about no more hugs, right Miles?"

The desperation in her eyes was enough to make him cry. Almost. Miles suddenly felt terrible about what he had said to her. He quickly wrapped his arms around her waist and gave her a reassuring squeeze. "Of course, not, Flower. I'm sorry I upset you. I love you."

"I love you too, Miles."

It all felt so familiar. Like a memory. As Miles followed the girl through the halls, he came to the realization that this was a memory. Though it seemed to be a good memory, he knew better. This was not a good memory at all. He willed himself to wake up before they reached the bottom of the stairs because he knew that as soon as they reached the bottom, there was no turning back. He was trapped, unable to wake himself. So, he let it play out. There was nothing he could do.

He allowed her to pull him further down the stairs and into the kitchen where their governess, Miss. Jessel stood, over the stove. Miles' stomach flipped. He hadn't seen her in a while, and never will again. She turned and smiled at them, holding out two bowls. Tomato soup. He could still smell it. Still taste it. He remembered everything about that day. What he was wearing, the things he said and did, and the look on everyone's faces when – Stop that!

He blacked out, falling asleep again. This time, he 'woke up' in the same place where all his nightmares started. The lights were off, and the house was cold. He was walking around the house, trying not to bump into the walls. He had dropped his flashlight, the batteries flying out the end. Miles got down on his hands and knees to search for them. But it was pitch black. He could no longer see anything. "Miles." He turned his body in the direction of the taunting voice. "Where are you?" He called to the voice. "Miles." This time it came from behind him. "This isn't funny anymore." Miles continued down the dark hallway. The voice called to him once more in an urgent tone. "MILES, HELP ME! PLEASE! MILES -"

He woke up. Really woke up. Back to the usual routine of gasping and crying. Out of instinct, Miles clenched his fists, but something prevented him from closing his right hand. Another hand. Miles' eyes trailed up their arm, all the way to their face. She had stayed with him, like she promised. Though she was sleeping, her closed eyes held heavy dark bags underneath them. She began to stir, and Miles contemplated letting go of her hand that was currently being crushed by his. Catching his shaking breath, he loosened his grip on her hand, not quite letting go. Marianne didn't seem to mind, as she just sat up and rubbed at her eyes, trying to wake up. Miles felt bad for her, remembering the horrifying events of last night. He could still hear her crying, leaning over his somewhat unconscious body, wiping blood from his face while he fought for his life. "Is everything okay?"

Her voice was just above a whisper. Miles watched as she looked him over with tired eyes. She must have been so scared. Not assuming she cared about him.Anyone would be scared wiping blood form someone's dying body. The thought of being genuinely cared for plagued his mind as he stared back at her with teary eyes. "Yeah, sorry. Just a bad dream. I get those sometimes." He breathed. Marianne nodded, and glanced down. Miles let out another shaky breath and followed her gaze down to their intertwined hands. He pondered the thought of pulling his cold hand out of her warm ones. That is, until she curled her fingers tighter around his and began to draw invisible circles on the back of his hand with the pad of her thumb.

"How are you feeling? After yesterday?" Her eyes were gentle and full of concern. The rim of her glasses reflected the light shining through the crack between the curtains, making her squint. She moved back against the headboard so that Miles was blocking her eyes from the sun. Miles thought about his answer. He didn't feel like death anymore, he could breathe just fine, but he still had the same nightmare every night. How was he feeling? As of right now, he felt nervous. Nervous to be sitting so close to someone – let alone a girl. Nervous to be touching hat girl, holding her hand. Nervous to not be hurting her but holding her hand with a delicacy he didn't even know he was capable of. Instead of saying all that, he decided on a quick, meaningless 'I'm fine' to answer her meaningful question.

Miles was thankful when she didn't contradict him, and instead, accepted his poor answer. "That's good. Must have been scary. It was for me. You were poisoned, dying." Poisoned. Miles began playing last night over again in his head. 'What is this? Poison?' His brows furrowed in confusion and her looked up at her, his eyes flickering between hers.

"Your water." Miles didn't know why, but he felt betrayed. "It was your water I drank." Marianne only nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving his. She wouldn't have ...... would she? No that's stupid! Why would she poison her own drink, and how would she have known I was going to drink form it? He focused on her; eyebrows furrowed. She looked .... Scared. It was her glass. Meaning it was supposed to be her not him. It was too much to handle, he needed time to process it all. "Get out." it came out harsher than he intended, but so do most of the things he says. Marianne opened her mouth to protest, but Miles beat her to it. "Just get out! Please." Without another word, she walked out of his room, leaving him cold and stressed.