“Oh God…” I swallowed hard and pushed the panic down and worse, the terrible agony that squeezed my heart to see him in so much pain.
I dipped the end of the towel in the bowl of warm water and held Ronan’s face gently in my hand. I wiped the blood off his mouth and chin, being careful not to bump his nose. Then I cleaned around his eye, carefully. He took my wrist.
“You don’t have to do this. I never wanted this. To bring this ugliness to you…”
“And I told you. You could never be ugly to me.”
I held his face in both hands, the towel cradling his cheek, and kissed him softly on the lips. His good eye fell shut, relief sighing out of him, and my heart broke all over again.
I gently swabbed the cut around his swollen eye with antiseptic, then laid him down on my pillow. He let out a half sigh, half groan—more relief to be lying down than pain, I hoped.
I sat beside him, my back against the headboard, and held the icepack on his eye while my fingertips softly grazed his scalp. My gaze trailed over his shirtless body, rigid with abs and the perfect broad plains of his chest. The compass pendant glinted against the tattoo on his right pec—a quote that was upside down from where I sat and unreadable in the dimness. Beneath it, there was another tattoo I hadn’t known about. A sketch of a man in medieval clothes with huge wings, barbed and webbed like a bat, his face turned up in despair. He looked to be falling or flying away from something that chased him.
But it was the bruises that colored Ronan’s skin that absorbed my attention.
“I think your ribs might be broken.”
“Probably.”
I winced at his matter-of-fact tone. As if cracked ribs and setting his own smashed nose were ordinary, everyday occurrences. “I don’t know what to do. You should go to a hospital.”
“I can breathe okay,” he said. “They’re just fractured. Nothing to do.”
“This has happened before?”
He didn’t answer.
“It’s late,” I said. “Do you need anything else? Water? Aspirin?”
He nodded faintly.
I left him holding the ice pack and rushed to get a glass of water from the kitchen and the bottle of Advil from what Bibi called our medicine basket on top of the fridge. I helped him sip water to wash the pills down and then moved to pull the blankets over him. That’s when I saw the blood stains on his right thigh and the rip in his jeans. I tore the hole wider and found two small, ragged gashes, as if a snake had bit him and dragged its fangs down half an inch, tearing his skin.
“What the hell is this?”
Ronan shook his head from under the icepack, and again I had to keep from bursting into tears.
“We’re talking about this tomorrow,” I said as I cleaned the fang-like wounds and dabbed them with antiseptic. “All of this.”
I quickly threw on pajamas—soft pants and a loose T-shirt. Then I tied up my hair in a scarf and climbed into bed with Ronan.
He took me in with his good eye. “What’s that?”
“Headscarf,” I said. “For my braids.”
“I like it,” he said tiredly. “Something I didn’t know about you.”
My chest felt heavy and I trailed my fingers over his right pec. “This is something I didn’t know about you.” I read the quote tattooed there. “The mind is its own place. It can make a heaven of hell and a hell of heaven.”
“John Milton,” Ronan said. “Paradise Lost.”
“And is this an angel or demon?” I asked of the winged person beneath it.
“Both,” he said. “It’s Satan being cast out of Heaven. He was an angel first.”
“What does it all mean?” I shook my head. “Never mind. Tell me tomorrow. Sleep now.”
He set the icepack on the floor, and I curled up next to him as gingerly as I could. My eyes started to droop, the adrenaline having run its course, leaving me drained. I started to doze, my thoughts drifting and scattering, but jerked awake at the vision of red blood in the white sink.
I looked up to see Ronan staring at the ceiling.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing. Everything.”
“Close your eyes, baby,” I said, the word slipping out again. “You need to rest.”
“I can’t.”
I frowned, remembering. “The nightmares? They come every night?”
“Every night.”
I tried to imagine lying down to sleep every single night of my life, knowing the horror that was waiting for me on the other side.
I bit my lip, thinking. “Not tonight. I’m going to…stand guard.”
“What?”
“You sleep, Ronan. I’ll stay awake. I’ll watch you and if they try to get you, I’ll talk to you. Maybe talk you through them. If they get too bad, I’ll wake you up, and we can try again.”
“You would do that…?” His jaw clenched and then he shook his head. “It won’t work and besides…” His voice grew hoarser. “I scream, Shiloh. I wake up fucking screaming and it’s bad. I’ll scare the shit out of you. And Bibi.”
Jesus… The thought horrified me. Not for me or Bibi but for him. What he suffered every night, never complaining.
I waited until my voice was steady. “We’re going to try it. Okay?”
He wanted to protest but he was too tired, his eyes already closing. I put my arm across his chest and snuggled as tightly to him as I dared without hurting him. I felt him settle into the bed, into my embrace.
He inhaled a breath and sighed it out. “I love you.”
The words were spoken so softly, I thought I misheard. But my heart heard them plain as day—seized them and drew them in where they sank in deep. It felt fuller than it’d ever felt. As if my chest couldn’t contain it.
“You don’t have to say it back,” Ronan said, eyes still closed, voice drifting. “I don’t expect…anything. I just wanted you to know that.”
I swallowed hard. Disbelieving. Within moments, he was asleep, his breathing even. And I still couldn’t move.
He’s delirious and exhausted. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.
Except Ronan never said anything he didn’t mean. Never wasted a word. But before I could process it or what those words were doing to my insides, to my heart, the nightmares were already coming for him.
His shoulders twitched and his brow furrowed. “No…” he breathed. “No, don’t…”
I held him tighter and put my mouth to his ear. I had no idea what to say but let the words come.
“Ronan, listen to me. I’m here. I’m right here. Listen to my voice. Come with me. Come away with me…”
His body relaxed, and his face smoothed of tension. I eased a breath, relief so great that he might have a peaceful sleep after so long without.
But it took all night.
Again and again, he jerked and writhed, calling out for someone to stop. For someone else to stay. Each time, I talked him down, soothed him, ran my fingers through is hair. Once, I had to wake him before the screams came. He jerked awake, his breath coming hard, not knowing where he was.
I reassured him, held him, and he slept again. And sometime late in the night, he went under deep, and the nightmares stayed away. I stayed awake, never ceasing my vigil until dawn’s light began to creep in my window. I knew then, he was okay. He’d made it.