Page 56 of King of Pain

I carefully grab his shoulders, shaking him gently but firmly. “Ant, wake up. It’s just a dream.” He doesn’t wake.

“Anthony!” I say a little louder and shake him a few more times until his eyes snap open, wild and unfocused, before theymeet mine. For a moment, he just stares at me, his chest heaving with ragged breaths.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re safe. You were having a nightmare,” I whisper, gently cradling his face in my hands. “You’re safe now, Beautiful.”

Ant doesn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes is enough to make me want to rage against whoever is responsible.

Whatever he’s been through, it’s left scars deeper than I can imagine, and in this moment, all I want to do is take his pain away.

TRACK TWENTY•FOUR

Lean On Me

Anthony

The darkness is suffocating, pressing in on me like the weight of a thousand bricks. I crouch inside the wardrobe, the scent of incense and aged wood thick in my nose, mingling with the faint tang of sweat on my skin. My breath comes in shallow gasps, muffled by my hand over my mouth. I try to stay silent, but my heart pounds like a drum, each beat echoing louder in the oppressive stillness.

“Little Tony…” The voice slithers through the air, singsong and sickly sweet. “Where are you, Little Tony?”

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to disappear. The footsteps outside the wardrobe grow heavier, louder, deliberate, each step a cruel reminder that escape is impossible.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” the voice taunts, closer now.

My stomach churns, bile rising in my throat as I press myself against the back of the wardrobe. I know what’s coming. I know there’s no hiding. My hands tremble as the footsteps come to an abrupt stop.

Silence.

Then, with a violent jolt, the wardrobe doors fly open. The light blinds me as the silhouette looms large, his face twisted into a mockery of kindness.

“There you are,” he says, reaching for me. The others are behind him. “It’s not polite to hide from us.”

I scream, raw and desperate, the sound tearing through my throat—

“Anthony!” A different voice cuts through the haze, pulling me back. My eyes fly open, and I’m met with Chance’s face hovering inches from mine. His hands cradle my cheeks, his eyes wide with concern. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re safe. It was just a dream. You’re safe now, Beautiful.”

I gasp for air, my chest heaving as the room around me comes into focus. The living room. The soft glow of the TV. Chance, kneeling in front of me, his hands steady and grounding.

“You’re safe,” he repeats, his voice low and soothing.

I nod, unable to form words. My hands are shaking, and my skin is clammy, but his presence is an anchor in the storm. Slowly, I begin to breathe again.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, his tone gentle.

I shake my head. The thought of explaining it all right now is too much.

“Okay,” he says, pulling his hands away but not moving far. “How about something strong to drink? I’ve got whiskey. We can just hang out and watch a movie until you’re ready to sleep again.”

I vigorously shake my head no.

Chance tilts his head.

I force a smile and clarify, “I mean yes, sorry. Just not whiskey.”

“Tequila work?” he asks.

I nod, and Chance disappears into the kitchen and returns with two glasses of tequila. He hands one to me and sits beside me, close enough to be comforting but not overbearing. I take a sip, the warmth spreading through me, chasing away the lingering chill of the nightmare.

He grabs the remote and flips through the channels. “Hey, look,” he says, stopping on a movie. “Heathersis on. I love this movie.”