The bedsprings squeak. She screams. I shrink under my bed. He’s here. Now I’m sitting in the corner of the room, he’s running the cold metal along my jaw. I close my eyes, but I hear his intoxicated laughter, her screams pleading for it to end. His gaze finds mine—his smile mocking.

Boom!

The sound of the gunshot rings in my ears and the smell of gunpowder suffocates me.

“Abby girl, you’re okay. You’re safe.” Wes’ voice pulls me away from my old house and back to reality.

When I wake up, my cheeks are damp. The room’s lit with the soft glow from the night-light next to the door. Wes is right beside me. His blue eyes are filled with worry, and his fingers tap my arm lightly with the same tempo he’s used since my second or third night at his parents’ house. One. Two. Three. Four. Pause. One. Two …

I breathe deeply, trying to catch my breath, and order myself to stop crying.

“Where are you?” He asks the same question he’s asked since my second nightmare.

With you. I open my mouth to respond, but I can’t find my voice. I freeze, my hands clutching the sheets.

“Abby,” he repeats my name louder. “Come back to me.”

His blue eyes filled with tenderness call out to my soul, soothing it. He’s so close to me that I could reach out and run my fingers along his rough jaw.

If I could talk, I’d beg him to hold me in his arms—to promise me that my nightmares are only bad dreams and not memories. To make me believe that I’m safe. That nothing will happen to me. I turn my head away and look out the window. It’s too open—unsafe. We’re so high, there’s no way he can climb and break in without being noticed.

“Where are you?” Wes asks, caressing my cheek with the back of his finger.

“I’m home, with you.” I finally find my voice, and with conviction, say the exact words he needs to hear.

The brave woman responded exactly how she should after a stupid nightmare. But the girl inside me still shakes in fear. Nothing has changed. I’m the same trembling girl afraid of the monsters that live in her house. The ghosts are back. It’s because I can feel him, near me. He can find me and …

Please, never let me go, I want to beg Wes. Stay with me, forever.

That’s too much to ask from one man, a man who has already put his life on pause for a long time because of everyone else. His dad, mom, brother—me. I can’t believe he doesn’t mind sleeping on the floor next to my bed or on the couch after all these years.

As I’m about to get out of bed to take a shower, he hands me two granola bars.

“You were ready.” I smile.

When I first started living with the Aherns, I had a strange ritual. Before going to bed, I made sure to have plenty of food at home. Then, I’d hide two snacks under my pillow. I don’t hide them anymore, but I do make sure to have plenty of food inside my nightstand. My disorder is so much different from any other. My food insecurity pushes me to store food everywhere.

After a nightmare, I would get upset. Emotionally agitated is how Linda described it. I’ve finally stopped eating large quantities of food in one sitting—but I eat more than many people. That’s the one thing I can control, what I eat—and when I eat. The second is how much I exercise my body—until I’m exhausted.

“I was prepared but hoping I wouldn’t have to use them.”

This hasn’t happened in so long.

Since I moved away from Denver, I’ve been so much better. Instead of coming home for the holidays, I’d meet with the Aherns somewhere else in the world. We’d go to Vancouver, Switzerland, Australia … there was always a place where we could travel to and celebrate Thanksgiving, Christmas, or spend summer vacation without having to come back to Denver.

Linda was the one who realized that I was doing a lot better once I left the hellhole where I was born. A fact Wes didn’t want to acknowledge even when I spelled it out clearly for him. Now, I’m here, back at the gates of the underworld. A part of me knows that I’m not that kid anymore, but another part, the one filled with fear, can’t seem to grasp that I’m free.

Am I free?

“I should’ve left the light on,” I excuse my lapse.

There must be a way to stop them. I was able to let it go for five years. Why would I let the memories take over my life now?

Why would I let them threaten my present and my future?

Because here, he’s closer. If he sees me again, he might drag me back to that house.

“Didn’t I suggest that before we fell asleep?” Wes says closing his eyes. “You didn’t want to count either.”

I did it—in my head. It was embarrassing enough to hold on to the teddy bear that Will brought me the day after my first night with them. I’m twenty-three and still hugging a bear like a toddler and needing the lights on to keep the monsters away.

As I unwrap my granola bar, I shrug. “It’s been almost a year since I slept with the lights on; I only use my nightlights.”

Will gifted me a set of nightlights for my twenty-second birthday. They’re shaped like princess crowns. He always said that I was their princess. Like his son, he worked hard to make sure I felt safe. He was an amazing man and father figure.

“Tomorrow we’ll make sure they’re on.” Wes climbs on my bed and takes my free hand, counting my fingers from one to five several times.

“Why are you so good to me, Wes Ahern?”

“Just because …” he shrugs and kisses my hand.

Sometimes, I wish things between us were different. There are nights when I pretend I’m someone else and that we’re together. I close my eyes, and for a brief moment, I imagine his arms around me—his lips on my mouth kissing me senseless until I forget every bad thing that’s happened to me.

Some days I wonder what it would be like to kiss him, to be touched with the tenderness that I imagine he’s capable of.

He wouldn’t hurt me.

He’d love me.

Wouldn’t he?

But how could that be when he’s so perfect, and I’m … me.

“You should go home,” I say getting out of the bed, trying to keep my distance from him. “Get some sleep.”

“That’s it? You’re going to give up and stop sleeping? Next thing you know you’ll be sporting dark circles under those pretty eyes.”

“There’s always concealer,” I wink at him.

He jumps out of the bed and takes me in his arms. Wes kisses the top of my head and rocks me from side to side. I want to push him away and ask for more all at the same time. This man is my best friend in the world. He’s understanding, tender, and protective. And, with his dark blue eyes, jet black hair, his hawkish nose and that concrete jaw, I can’t help but be attracted to him.

I’m enamored with his prince charming charisma and his protective heart.

Every time he’s around, I pretend not to feel anything for him. Like right now, while he holds me. My barely covered breasts press against his soft, warm, sculpted torso. I can feel his muscular ridges. I itch to trace every line, kiss every inch of him. It’s these moments when my blood roars through my veins, awakening the woman inside me.

What would it be like to be reckless and just kiss his bare skin?

“I wish, …” I mumble closing my eyes.

“What do you wish?”

I wish I could kiss you. I want to feel your lips on my skin and your hands sliding down my body.

“Nothing,” I say sobering up from the fantasy.

He’s the only guy I’ve been attracted to. No other man holds a candle to him. Maybe it’s just gratitude toward him and there aren’t any real feelings.

I try to fight his hold. This shouldn’t be happening. Nothing can ever happen between the two of us. If only I weren’t so messed up. My legs shake as my heartbeat accelerates. I bite the inside of my cheek hard to stop myself from having an anxiety attack, stopping only when I taste copper in my saliva.

My body, my mind, and my mouth are about to betray me. At least one of them is ready to take a leap of faith and kiss him or tell him how I feel.

I huff, annoyed at my stupidity and myself. Without saying a word, I walk away from him, deciding that another shower is in order. I enter the bathroom and lock the door behind me.

“Abby, let’s talk,” he knocks on the door.

“Go back home, Wes,” I encourage him to leave me. “I have to unpack the boxes, and you need to rest.”

“Do you think I can go back to sleep knowing you’re having an anxiety attack?”

“I’m not having one,” I lie.

This is a combination of panic and desire—a lust that runs deep inside my core and which I can’t allow myself to act on. Most likely, I’d lose my shit if I tried.

Abby, stop fantasizing. Love isn’t possible for someone like you.