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Alastair places the book beside us, wrapping his arms around me and resting his chin on my shoulder. “Will you spend the night with me?” he whispers against my hair and without much thought, I nod my agreement, too reluctant to leave the comfort of his embrace amidst the fears that plague me beyond the walls of his room. “Thank you,” he murmurs, as if my agreement has settled some massive weight for him. He picks me up and sets me in the center of his bed.
He heads to his window to latch it closed, but I stop him. “Could we leave it cracked? I rather like the coolness of the room and the warmth of your body.”
He gives me a wry smile. “Of course,” he says, leaving the window open just a touch, enough for the cool breeze to still surround us.
We take our time getting ready for bed, and when he has me dressed in one of his shirts with nothing but my panties beneath, he tosses the heavy covers over us and latches onto me like his life depends on our proximity alone.
For the first time in years, I fall asleep with ease, and don’t wake until the sun has risen high in the sky, cloaked by thick clouds. Nightmares evade me, just this once. And for that, I’m grateful.
But the nightmares always return.
Journal Entry
There are moments, brief as a breath drawn in the dark, when peace feels almost real.
Calista slept beside me last night, her hand over my heart, as though she meant to steady it. The storm presses on the glass; the air is heavy, close. I wonder if that is what love truly is—the quiet suffocation of wanting someone so badly you forget to breathe.
I could live forever in this hush, if only it didn’t feel like the world was holding its breath with us.
Until tomorrow,
Alastair
Chapter 8
Christmas Eve
Calista
It had taken Alastair’s coaxing kisses to lull me from my sleep, his face buried between my thighs, stubble scraping against my tender flesh as he devoured me like I was the best breakfast he’s ever eaten. I’d rested so well, we almost missed the meal offered in the dining hall, but Alastair has always been sure to meet all of my needs, and he would never allow me to skip a meal.
The halls grow dimmer as we make our way to the dining hall, the storm outside pressing in on the windows, boxing us in. The warm twinkling lights wrapped around the banisters and gold and silver ornaments hanging from the rafters act as our main source of light, easing some of my discomfort, but only momentarily.
As Alastair pushes the heavy wooden doors open, holding it for me to glide past, my heart lurches. The heavy gazes of students filled with unease surround us, their shoulders slumped, voices pitched low. Gone is the raucous chatter that usually floods this room, replaced by the hushed murmurs of those unable to flee home to their families before the storm swallowed us whole.
I meander aimlessly through the food line, led by Alastair, who takes it upon himself to pile my tray with food as if feeling my shift in demeanor and knowing I am unable to do this small thing for myself any longer. We make our way to the faculty tables where Professor Winthrop is wringing her napkin as though she could twist her fear right out of it.
Breakfast feels more like a vigil than a meal, and the stiff postures and heavy gazes of once familiar faces surrounding me leaves my thoughts in disarray.
Suspicion prickles between us like static, turning familiar faces into shadows at the edge of our vision. Years of trust unravel in an instant, every shared moment recast as something dangerous, as though we have brushed past the grim reaper himself without ever knowing his name.
Alastair’s pinky grazes my hand beneath the table, grounding me. I turn to meet his unwavering gaze, and it's only when our eyes lock that I feel myself come back into my body. “I think I’m ready to get out of here,” I murmur to him, and without a word, he stands, clearing our trays and depositing them in the return bin. He reappears a moment later, extending a palm for me to take.
I allow him to help me to my feet, his hands finding my waist as I wobble on unsteady heels, my head feeling unclear.
“Take me somewhere I can breathe, Alastair,” I whisper, the words sounding desperate to my own ears.
“As you wish, my ruin.”
Once again, we find ourselves in his bedchamber, very little having changed from when we were last here a couple hours ago.
The air around us feels denser in the way that moist heat always does. As much as warmth is a comfort to me, I can’t deny how nice the cool, crisp air we were able to let in last night was.
I perch on the edge of his bed, and he drops to his knees in front of me, cradling my ankle between his palms as he unfastens the delicate strap of my heel and slips it from my foot. His hands linger there, his gaze traveling slowly up my body until it catches mine, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Then his thumb digs into the arch of my foot.
A moan slips from my lips as pleasure radiates through me, and I thread my fingers through his short auburn waves, dragging my maroon nails lightly over his scalp.
