Page 40 of Madame X

Darkness.

No more darkness. Keep the darkness at bay! There are beasts in the blackness. They want my blood, desire my flesh.

I cannot breathe.

I am drowning in an ocean of darkness, and I cannot breathe.

“Breathe, X.” A command.

I breathe, drag in a long painful breath.

“Breathe.”

I breathe.

Hands caress my face; a body cradles mine. I find comfort even as dimly remembered fear pulses through me. “Caleb.”

“Just keep breathing, X. You’re okay. You were dreaming.”

God, the dreams. They ravage me, pillage my soul.

Awareness returns with a jolt like lightning striking a tree. “Let me go.” I crawl away. “Don’t touch me.”

“X—”

I scramble off the bed, hit the floor in a pile of limbs, huddle in the darkness against the window. A shadow rises in the darkness, male shoulders, that face, angular and beautiful, angelic in its perfection, even in shadowed profile. My door is open, letting in a sliver of slight, a lance of brightness spearing the darkness, setting a too-handsome profile into relief.

“I’m sorry. You know that’s not easy for me to say, to you or anyone else. I don’t ever apologize. Not for anything, no matterwhat. But I’m apologizing to you, X. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, and I’m sorry.” Beside me, crouched, pale arms bare, wearing nothing but boxer-briefs.

“I know.” It’s all the forgiveness I can muster.

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

A finger, touching my chin, lifting my face so I’m gazing up into shadowed perfection. “Look at me, X.”

“I am.” Those eyes, so dark, so unknowable, so piercing, they are open and sorrowful and worried.

“Don’t be afraid of me.”

“I’m not.” Oh, I am a skilled liar, when I must be.

Lifted, I am cradled against a hard warm bare chest. I can hear heartbeats, slow and steady. Hands, running up and down my arms, smooth my hair away. I am still in my dress. I don’t know what time it is.

My heart crashes in my chest.

“Sara.”

“What?” I allow myself to sound as confused as I am.

“Her name is Sara. The girl you saw me with. Sara Abigail Hirschbach. Her parents are Jewish, prominent members of the Orthodox Jewish community here in New York. Her father is a business associate of mine. And Sara... well, we have a complicated history. An on-and-off sort of thing. She would like it to be more ‘on’ than I would, even though I’ve explained that I do not and will not ever care for her that way. Yet she keeps coming back for more of what I do give her. Which is purely physical.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I struggle to keep my voice neutral.

My question is ignored. “I’m going to be truthful with you, X. Never expect anything from me. What you know of me, it’s all there is. And the truth is... you know the real Caleb Indigo farmore thoroughly than any of my other... acquaintances, let’s call them... ever will. They get less than you. Less of my time, and less of me in those brief moments. You... you are special, X.”

“How many are there?”