She laid in the dark, the feeble yellow spilling from the bathroom door the only light in the room. She listened to his breathing, felt his heartbeat against her back.
The clock on the nightstand ticked out the seconds, tiny dots of glowing paint demarcating the minutes and hours; ticking forward, around, forward and around.
Terror was there, at the edges of the dark. But the darkness did not hold the terror. The memories of fear were bright; stark, plain walls, loud music, unrelenting light. The dark was warmth, comfort, safety.
His arm lay heavy over her ribs. His hand splayed, thumb against the curve of her breast over soft, worn flannel. Fingers curved, intimate against ribs and towards her armpit.
The pillow smelled of his laundry, and faintly of his shampoo and aftershave.
It was safe here, safe to sleep. But safety was not to be taken for granted so much as to sleep and waste... it needed to be cherished, to be savored.
Unless this was the dream. Unless the nightmare was more real—the white, empty room, the relentless music... the fear.
She must have made some kind of sound, must have held her breath. "'Manda?" Lips found the back of her neck, where it met her shoulder. His voice, rough with sleep, was a lifeline pulling her back to the dark.
His arm tightened around her, thumb absently soothing. She turned, the light from the bathroom behind her now. His face was in shadows, only his eyes lucent under heavy lids. Both his arms gathered her. She abandoned her pillow for one of muscle and sinew. Now his heart beat against her cheek. His breath sounded in her ear, against her own chest.
"Do you want the light on?" He began to reach over her for the bedside lamp.
"No!" Her hand pushed at him, ended up resting, palm over his heart.
His fingers tunneled through her hair. His hand formed to the back of her skull, cherishing. He pressed his lips to her temple. He shifted, pulling the covers up to her shoulders, holding her to him. The clock ticked, his heart beat, his breath rose beneath her... monsters were not part of the darkness. Monsters were men, real, in the brash light of day.
Here, in the dark, in his arms, she was safe.
