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“Samuel.” My eyes opened to brightness, the contorted face of Enea dissipating and Emma’s pale face taking form in front of me. She looked horrified.
I sat up and raised my hands before my face, turning them over and over. They were covered in blood. I looked around for the knife. But there was none. I shoved to my feet and searched the floor, then checked my bloody hands again.
“Samuel, what are you doing?”
“Where is the knife?”
Emma gave me a pained look. “There is no knife here. Your gun is in the drawer of your nightstand, and you left your knives downstairs.”
I opened the drawer where I found my gun, but no knife.
I moved into the bathroom, desperate to wash my hands, but when I looked at them this time, they were clean. No sign of blood. I was covered in sweat, and my hair was drenched. Slowly, I walked back into the bedroom. Emma perched on the edge of the bed, watching me with concern.
I sank down on my side. I needed a moment to gather myself. The linens and covers were damp from my sweat.
“It was me who tortured Enea,” I croaked.
“You pleaded and screamed.”
A knock sounded. I jerked to my feet and drew my gun. “Come in.”
My father poked his head in. I lowered my gun. Mom stepped out from behind Dad’s back.
“Everything okay?” Dad asked.
“I had a nightmare,” I said, realizing nothing had actually happened. It had felt more real than any dream before.
Mom came in and quietly talked to Emma, who nodded. Mom gave me a shaky smile before she moved back out. “Will you be okay?” Dad asked Emma.
“Yes,” she said firmly.
Dad met my gaze, concern shining in his brown eyes. I gave him a firm nod, and he nodded in turn, then took Mom’s hand and led her out. After they’d left, I took another shower.
“Do you want me to change the linens?” I asked Emma.
She shook her head. “We can do it in the morning. It’s almost four anyway. My side is dry. You could put towels over yours. Or we take the spare blanket from the wardrobe.”
I leaned over her and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I won’t sleep again. I’ll go watch something downstairs.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
“You need your sleep.” I gently caressed her belly before I walked out.
I sucked in a deep breath and made my way downstairs, where I grabbed a Coke from the fridge and downed it in one draw, then walked back out of the kitchen. My gaze lingered on the door to Dad’s office. I knew the safe was impossible to break open, yet a desperate part of me wanted to try.
Just one sip.
One fucking sip.
I could simply head out for a drink. There was a bar not too far from here. Maybe they were still open. Or I could go to Renato. He always had enough liquor at home.
I closed my eyes. I promised Emma. I wouldn’t risk losing her because of this weak voice in my head. I was stronger than an addiction.
I stopped and took a deep breath. My hands became clammy, and my heartbeat picked up for no fucking reason.Dammit.I’d had a slower pulse when being shot at, and here, my body was acting up because of a drink.
I’d go to the living room and wait for morning. In a day or two, I’d be through the worst. At least, that was what I hoped.
“Can’t sleep?” Dad asked as he appeared at the end of the hallway.