from the second sleep leaves her, mae is painfully aware of the absence of adrenaline in her system and the over abundance of raw vulnerability that fills the void ; a dangerously unfamiliar phenomenon that leaves her breathless and frankly, terrified. fear, to her, is subjective. fear is in the moment. fear urges her to push forth and fight whatever it is that taunts her, regardless of whether or not she thinks she can handle it – fear is her bravery, fear is what makes her who she is. moments of fluttering eyelids blinking away tears pass and she shudders in his arms, realizing that she actually can’t breathe and that’s when the sob breaks through and empties her throat; that’s when she lets herself cry into the crook of his neck and completely unwind for the first and hopefully the last time. his words dance around her eardrums and she hears them but she doesn’t believe them because he’s wrong, it wasn’t just a dream and she isn’t okay – she’s not in danger anymore, but she isn’t okay. she shakes her head against him and she tangles her fingers into his shirt, trying with all that she has to say no, no she isn’t, but she can’t. more than that, she won’t. five, ten, fifteen minutes pass and she’s silent, eyes wet still but her chest is steady against his and they’re practically breathing in sync. mae’s head rests on the pillow next to his head and she stares at him, fingers tracing circles on the same spot of his chest as his arms tighten around her and she feels him kiss her forehead for probably the millionth time since she woke up, but she’s not complaining; if anything, the kisses are what keeps her from breaking down again. when she speaks, it’s low. it isn’t velvety like normal – it isn’t lighthearted. “it was something that happened to me. more of a flashback than a nightmare.”a flashback to when her father told her to leave as ali and not return until he was ready to.
