under the covers [hs au]

chapter thirty-five.

please comment bc i like talking to y'all ily

-

Say no.

Don't let him, Samira.

You don't need him.

Only if Samira had the strength to walk on her own, she could refuse his aid. Regardless, a faint no left her lips, but at that moment, the world around her plummeted into darkness.

Lights flashed moments later, interrupting her short-lived slumber. In pain, she groaned, blinding light penetrating her blinking eyes. She sat in front of a window, sunken into a cushioned, rattling seat. She turned her head to the right, watching a pair of bloodied knuckles grip a steering wheel. Judging by the route they were on, they were driving through the city side of Liverpool.

Her heavy eyelids dropped again.

Soon, she felt a slight jerk. A cold breeze tickled her skin on her left, causing her teeth to chatter violently. Click. The seat belt around her waist was released. A pair of arms hooked beneath her lower back and her knees, lifting her up with ease.

Sprinkles of rain pattered onto her face. Samira nestled her head in Harry's chest, trying to relieve her discomfort.

"I don't remember you being the weight of a feather," Harry mumbled as he clutched her, disheartened.

Moments later, Samira was then lying on her belly, clutching a snug pillow—she was in a bed.

"Samira, are you still drunk?"

Groaning, Samira shifted in the sheets, scrunching her eyes.

"No."

"What's two plus two?"

"Seven-hundred . . . twenty-nine."

She heard a deafening sigh: "Do you need a bucket?"

A vibration rattled the bed. Samira twitched in place, instinctually reaching into the pocket of her skirt.

But her hand never grabbed the phone. Somehow, the buzzing had ceased.

"Yes, Samira is fine. Don't worry about her . . . yes, she's still drunk."

Silence.

"Okay . . . just leave her alone. I'll take care of it. No . . . why the fuck would I ever want to hurt her?"

Silence, again, then a loud click of the tongue.

"I know what she needs. We have our own shit to work out, Alexia. That's none of your business."

At the sound of that name, Samira peeled her eyes open. Moments with Alexia flashed through her mind, her soothing voice of honey, her soft, plush lips—Samira's stream of thoughts muddled like murky water, incapable of being pieced together.

Her eyes wandered around. Samira smelled the pillow she grasped—it contained the same clean smell as Harry. All reality hit her: she was in her ex's bed. She accepted Harry's shelter from a hurricane he formed.

Her wings stopped flapping—she was back in his cage.

Samira bit her lips, feeling a knot tighten around her throat. Chills pricked her skin, and her heart pounded rapidly in her ears. Embracing the pillow like it was all she had, Samira sobbed, her cries muffled into it.

"Sam. Don't cry."

The bed dipped. Samira shivered, feeling his warm hand rub her cold back. It felt as though anvils pushed down on her—she couldn't move.