Page 81 of Raven's Dawn
“But, see,”—she tossed the marshmallow into her mouth and spoke between chews—“I’ve never been the book smart kind of gal.” After swallowing, she said, “Mad respect to you guys, though. With all the time you have, you’re going to be as powerful as Luci one day. Maybe more so, because you have Graham, Warren, and Ezra to pull energy from.”
“That’s the dream,” I said. “Did you get a full night’s rest? Or day’s, rather?”
“Nah, I’ve been up for a while. I’ll try and turn back in soon.” She offered me the bag of marshmallows. “What about you? Good and rested?”
Plucking one from the bag, I shrugged. “I’ll probably try and get some more soon too.”
She didn’t make any particular expression, just kept chewing her marshmallow. “Nightmare?”
My face screwed up. I was used to her reading my mind without permission, but that was something I didn’t want shared. “Did you read my mind?”
“No. I just know that face.” She stabbed another marshmallow and held it above the flame. “It’s the same one I saw in the mirror a few hours ago.”
It was comforting to know I wasn’t the only one having trouble sleeping tonight. “Shit. I’m sorry.”
“Ditto.” Laila rolled the marshmallow slowly left to right. She seemed so focused on the act, but then it went up in flames, and she just kept twirling it around. I wasn’t sure if she liked her marshmallows burned or if she, too, didn’t have the best head on her shoulders right now. “It’s the weirdest shit. When I’m home, if I have nightmares, I don’t remember them. Most of the time. Sometimes, something will come up, and that’ll remind me of something, and then… nightmare. But then I come here, and I’m so together when I’m in the fight, but then all that blood just burns into my brain. Draws connections. The fear here, the fear there.” She glanced down at the scar on her wrist. “Psychology’s weird.”
“You know what’s weirder?” I asked.
“Hm?”
“Immediately after it happened—the thing I dreamed about—I wasn’t scared. I mean, maybe I was, but I wouldn’t admit it. I didn’t have any nightmares that night. I don’t think I dreamed at all. Then, when I haven’t thought about this shit in years, it just rushes back and scares the living fuck out of me.”
She traced a finger up the scar on her wrist. “Getting this was one of the worst things that’s ever happened to me. But that night, when I was stuck in a cell, not knowing if I’d ever see Jeremy again, or my friends, or my family, I dreamed about Thanksgiving.” Laughing, she met my gaze. “The first time I was tortured, when I got back to my cell, and I fell asleep in my own blood, I had a wet dream about my husband.” Another laugh escaped her, but this one was damp. Tears gathered in her eyes. She quickly blinked them away. “When I was there, I only dreamed about the good things. The nightmares didn’t start ‘til I got home.”
Maybe I was demented, but hearing that story made my heart warm. “That’s where you got the scars? You were held hostage?”
“For three months.” She cleared her throat and turned back to the fire. “But I’m fine now. Did the therapy thing, worked through it. Most days, I’m okay. I’m sure you know what I mean.”
Swallowing, I nodded.
“Have you been to therapy?” she asked. “Have you worked through it?”
“I thought I had.” A half laugh. “Like you said, though. Most days, I’m okay. But what I went through is nothing like what you went through.”
“What did you go through?” Her voice was so soft, so kind. Mothering. “If you want to talk about it, anyway.”
Did I? Did I not?
She had shared something painful from her past with me. And hers was a lot more intense than mine. Didn’t I owe her this?
Even if I didn’t, didn’t I want to talk about it with someone? Someone who wouldn’t make me feel weak or stupid for it? Maybe I had been, but I didn’t need to hear that. I couldn’t do anything about who I had chosen to share my life with when I was young. I was so ashamed of it, and I didn’t know who to talk to because the only thing that scared me more than the memories was knowing how people looked at me for acknowledging they existed.
“I dated some really bad guys,” I said quietly. “Most of them. All of them, until my guys now. They all fucking sucked.”
“They hurt you?” she asked, tone still soft.
I nodded.
Even gentler, she said, “Physically? Or mentally?”
“Both.” Feeling my throat swell, I cleared it as best I could. “But I don’t have nightmares about them cheating on me or calling me a bitch.”
“Well, I guess it’s just a different kind of fear. I bet you don’t have nightmares about people you had to fight physically outside of him either, right?” she asked. “I never did. I fought beside Nix on battlegrounds. Chopped people’s heads off, made them drown in their own vomit, but that’s never what my nightmares were about. It was always that time Lux held me up against the wall by my throat. He beat the living fuck out of me once. Within an inch of my life.” Another dry, humorless laugh. “Took my son’s life in the process.” Licking her teeth, she raised a shoulder. “But that moment, before I hated him, before I realized what he was really capable of, when he held my life in the palm of his hand… That scared me like nothing else.”
“More than being held captive?” I asked, doing my best to not sound accusative. Her experience sounded like a horror story. Mine… wasn’t. I had to make sure I was hearing her correctly. “More than being tortured?”
“It sounds crazy, doesn’t it?” Laila gave me a smile, but there was no joy in it. Sarcasm, maybe irony, but not joy. “Those three months should have been the worst of any life I could’ve ever lived. And, in some ways, they were. But in others, they weren’t. I knew that there was something to hope for while being held captive. Going home, seeing my soulmate, having a family with him. Shit, eating a burger and smoking a joint.”