“Do you want to talk about it, or do you just want to go back to bed?” he asks.

“I want to brush my teeth and go back to bed. I have a final tomorrow.” God, I am so unprepared. It’s a good thing I at least got some studying done on Saturday and earlier today.

“Are you sure you want to go? I could forge you a doctor’s note and get you out of it.” I’m sure he could, but I really just want to get it over with.

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine now.”

Blood. Pooling on a scratched linoleum floor.

I shut my eyes and try to picture something else. Anything else. Another wave of nausea rolls through me, but I swallow it down and breathe through my nose. It passes and I use Sylas’ body to help get me off the floor.

I don’t tell him about the details. The floor, the way the blood makes a bright puddle. I just tell him I saw blood. For some reason I don’t want to share anything else about the nightmares with him.

“I’m okay. I’m going to brush my teeth and I’ll be right there,” I say, shuffling to the sink and grabbing my toothbrush. He holds his hands out, as if he’s waiting for me to fall.

“I’ll be right there,” I say, giving him as strong a smile as I can muster.

“Okay,” he says and shuts the door, leaving me alone.

I lean against the sink and take a few deep breaths before picking up my toothbrush and getting rid of the awful taste in my mouth.

Every muscle aches, even though I took that bath with Sylas.

I just feel… wrong and I have no idea what to do about it.

Sylas is the one who gets me up the next morning for school. I feel like I haven’t gotten any sleep at all and it’s a struggle to keep my eyes open as I brush my hair.

“Want me to braid it for you?” he asks, coming to stand behind me.

“Sure, that would be great.” He does a quick French braid for me and then ties it off. I check it out in the mirror and it looks good.

“Thanks, babe,” I say, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Babe?” he says, following me out of the bathroom and toward the front door. He’s actually dressed today, in jeans and a t-shirt that shows off his arms so well it hurts to leave him.

“I don’t know, it just came out. I have to go, I’m going to be late.” I give him another kiss and he waves goodbye.

“See you later, Redhead.”

I have absolutely no idea how I make it through Monday, but it’s pretty much a miracle. I finish up my finals and actually don’t feel horrible about how I did. Granted, I have several more the rest of the week, but at least I’ve gotten through some of them.

Dad calls me again, but I delete his voicemail without even listening to it. How dare he? I can’t even let myself think about it. I put it in a box and shove it to the back of my mind.

Sylas isn’t home when I get there, but he left me a note taped to the skull where I keep my keys saying that he had some errands to run and he’ll bring back by dinner.

Hm. I’d be lying if I said I’m not glad that he’s getting out of the house. That’s good. I’m proud of him. It sucks that I’m here alone, but I’m going to have to learn how to suck it up and deal with it. Before I was with Sylas, I was alone a lot. I can go back to that, no problem.

To keep my mind from thinking about the awful things I placed in the mental box, I get out my books and start studying again. I still have that stupid drawing to do.

Draw something I love. Well, the obvious answer is Sylas. But I’m so terrible at drawing I don’t want to do a shitty job and then force him to pretend he likes it. But I don’t have to draw his whole body…

Bam. There’s an idea. I just need to wait until he gets back.

I’m not sure when Sylas is going to be back and I don’t want to be too needy, so I go ahead and start making some dinner. I rarely cook, but I feel like doing something nice for him tonight. I’m not that great of a cook, but I can do spaghetti with meatballs, garlic bread and salad.

I’m just stirring the sauce into the noodles when the door opens.

“Wow, you’re cooking?” Sylas asks.

“Hey now. I can cook things other than popcorn,” I say, pointing my wooden spoon at him. His cheeks are flushed and there’s a smile on his face. He looks good. Really good. Good enough to say “forget dinner” and take him back to my bedroom.

“I know you can,” he says, coming into the kitchen to give me a kiss. “Hello.”

“Hi,” I say, running my hands down his back to squeeze his ass. I love the way it looks in these jeans.

“How were your finals?” he asks, stepping away and leaning on the counter.

“I think I did okay. Or at least as good as I was going to do, given the circumstances.” He nods and fiddles with one of the plates I got out.

“Well, I’m proud of you for going in and doing your best.” I look up from the pot of pasta.

“You are?” He gives me a look like I’m crazy.

“Of course I am.”

Huh. What do you know?

“You’re blushing,” he says, brushing one finger along my cheek.

“Shut up,” I say, stepping away from him. He smiles and just follows me.

“I love making you blush. It’s one of my favorites.” I roll my eyes at him. He once told me he was going to use every line in the book on me. He’s still got a lot to go, but he’s ticked quite a few off.

“Take the plates and go sit down,” I say, trying to hide my face.

“Yes, Redhead,” he says before he bows and does as I asked. He’s in a really good mood, but I wait until we’re sitting down on the couch and I have a glass of wine in my hand before asking about it.

“Well,” he says, picking up his fork and twirling some spaghetti onto it with impeccable skill, “I went and saw a therapist today. I didn’t tell you I was going to do it, because I wasn’t sure how it was going to go, or if it was going to be the right fit.” I’m distracted from the food by his admission.

“Oh yeah? Did it go well?” It’s clear that it went well just from looking at him and sitting next to him. His whole energy has changed for the better. Kind of makes me want to go and see if therapy would work for me.

“It did. She’s really nice and the first session was no pressure. Just asking me about my life and so forth. I edited a little, but told as much truth as I could. I didn’t want to take any chances.” I don’t blame him at all.

“That’s smart. So, are you going to go back?” He chews and swallows. I wonder if his mother was the one who taught him how to eat with such lovely manners. I’m sure she did. It’s hard to imagine Sylas as a child. As a little boy missing a tooth or two with scraped knees and knobby elbows. No, I can’t picture it. I assume most of the pictures of him as a child were lost in the fire. It’s not fair that he’s seen me in my awkward years, but I don’t get a chance to see him.

“Next week. It’s really not as bad as I thought it was going to be. I was so afraid I was going to cry. I really hate crying.” Ditto. We continue eating and he tells me more about his therapy appointment. He seems to really be moving in the right direction. I just hope it will continue.

“So, I have something to ask you. A favor, if you will,” I say. He puts down his fork.

“I’m intrigued. I hope it involves both of us being naked.” I snort.

“Sort of. Um, so I have to do a final drawing for my class and I should have started it ages ago. It’s due on Thursday and I couldn’t decide what I wanted to do. We’re supposed to draw something we love. And, well, I love you, but I don’t want to fuck it up, so I was wondering if I could just draw a portion of you. Like, maybe your back? With all your tattoos?” I feel like a total dork asking him. He just smiles and bumps my shoulder with his.