Page 50 of Stalked By Shadows
“Don’t ever do that again,” he whispered. “Fucking Lukas does it all the time. He’d sleep on the floor, and I’d wake him up at the first sign of noise, only he wouldn’t hear anything, but would then go racing out into the darkness. I’d be left in here, pacing, worrying. All my nightmares replaying over and over until he reappeared. Thinking, what if he vanished? How would I explain that? He’s a cop. If they treated Tim horribly, and he’s a damn boy scout, how would they treat me if a cop goes missing on my watch? And can you imagine how heartbroken Sky would be? And now I know you. If you vanished Lukas would go nuts. Even before I met you, I knew he would. You’re all he talked about for a long time. He was so proud of you. If you were gone… Fuck.”
“I’m sorry,” I said again. “I was thinking less about actual boogeymen and more about the real sort of prowler kind. I didn’t notice an alarm system earlier. Do you have one?”
“No.” His hands gripped my shirt, like it was the only way he could stop them from trembling, and he pressed his nose to my collar breathing in the scent of me. I held him, rubbed his back, whispered apologies, though the whole thing made me a little angry. Not at Micah. None of this was his doing. More at the circumstances. At night he lived like a prisoner in his own home. Terrified of unexplainable sounds that not everyone heard, and stalked in the darkness by something he couldn’t see. I’d been thinking my own existence difficult, plagued by memories and dreams of a single nightmarish day in my past, while he lived in fear every day, tormented by something almost nightly. Dreaming of thriving while struggling to survive.
“Maybe we can take Jet and go to Lukas’s place for the night. I don’t think he’ll mind,” I said.
“It won’t matter,” Micah said as he pulled away and toed off his shoes to leave them beside the door. “I could be here or home with my parents and it follows me. Before Jet it would pull at the door knob, sometimes rattle the windows.”
I looked at the cat who licked his paw like there was nothing important about him.
“Did you know that cats have historically been used to keep ghosts and all sorts of demons at bay? Across a dozen cultures and spanning through history all the way back to ancient Egypt. I think that’s why Tim gave me Jet. Said he found him in the gutter somewhere. But Jet came to me chipped with Humane Society paperwork and a full medical record. Though I think he picked a cat because I don’t have enough time for a dog and cats are more independent,” Micah said.
It made me think better of the guy. Sure their relationship may have exploded from all the shit they’d both been through, but Tim seemed to be trying his best to still help out a friend. “He’s a good guy.”
“No reason to be jealous of him,” Micah said. “Tim and I are over.”
“I’m not jealous.” I was jealous. Tim and Micah had a whole history, and so far Micah and I were what? A spark?
“You hungry? I can make pancakes or eggs or something. No dairy. I’m pretty allergic, but I can cook rice about a dozen ways. Potatoes too.”
“Are you making ethnic jokes about yourself?”
“A little.” He began picking up small things I hadn’t noticed and putting them away. “I’m Asian but don’t like sushi. So that one doesn’t fit. I’m Irish and love potatoes. That one fits. Hungry?”
“Not hungry,” I told him, watching him move. It was methodical. Like putting emotions into a box with each item he picked up. And perhaps it was. A way for him to build the wall around the anxiety that made his heart pound while we stood in the garden. “Tell me what I can do to help?”
He sighed. “I don’t know?”
“Areyouhungry?” I tried. I knew nothing about the layout of his kitchen or the possible contents, but I could cook and didn’t have any food allergies that I knew of. Living on military rations sort of meant eating whatever you could.
“I don’t know?” He asked again, unsure of everything in that moment. “I think I’m going to shower.”
The only thing I’d seen him eat all day was part of a bagel and a few bites of sausage from the meal Lukas had ordered for me. “If I cook, will you eat?”
“Maybe?” He looked at me like a frightened bird, beautiful and injured. Micah needed focus too, I realized. Something beyond the fear.
“Where is your crochet? The one you were working on?” I tried to recall his closet layout and where he’d put it.
He shrugged. “It’s one of many unfinished projects.”
“Okay, what if I ask you for something? Give you something to focus on and finish? Will that help? I’ll try to make us something to eat and you can start on the project.”
He blinked at me like my words weren’t quite making sense. I’d spent enough time overseas and in a psych ward to learn body language. His fight or flight mode was shutting down. Too much stress did that sometimes. Had that happen to me a time or two, so overwhelmed that I couldn’t function, even breathing was hard when that happened. Sort of like a panic attack, only silent, a mental collapse inward.
I reached him in two long strides and pulled him into my arms, touching him, forcing him to feel me, breathe me in. “I’m here,” I said. “You’re not alone.” His trembling hadn’t eased. I thought about what therapy had taught me. Grounding, was one of the best ways to pull a person out of panic. That was all about the senses, but I’d always been very touch oriented. Which was why the weighted and textured blankets had worked well for my anxiety. I wasn’t sure Micah had one in the menagerie of his crafts.
The second-best option was water. So I dragged Micah into the bathroom, stripping off both our clothes as we went. He didn’t protest at all, which worried me, but his skin was cold beneath my hands and he shivered, even as I turned on the water to find it already hot.
It took a few buttons to figure out how to change the showerhead to use all three heads and more of a waterfall mode. Then I pulled Micah under that spray with me, wrapping my body around him for warmth and comfort. Letting the water trickle over our skin in a gentle rain. It wasn’t sexual in that moment, though I doubted it would have taken more than a few basic thoughts to get me hard and ready for Micah. Everything about him appealed to me. Not just how beautiful and delicate he was, but how much my need to protect was fulfilled with him. Stupid white-knight syndrome. Why did Lukas always have to be right?
“You’re safe,” I promised him. “I’m here.”
Micah clung to me like I was a life preserver keeping him afloat. The shivering slowed as I ran my hands through his wet hair, feeling it slide through my fingers. He accepted the small kisses I planted all over his face. And I wasn’t sure he was hearing anything I said. I found his scrubbing sponge and added some body wash to it before working it to a lather and gently applying it to his skin.
He relaxed in inches along with my gentle washing. His shoulders, then his arms and inch by inch lower. He wasn’t aroused, but neither was I. Instead he rested his head on my shoulder, eyes half lidded, exhaustion sapping the last of the panic from him. His breathing even, matching mine. I kept talking, nonsense really, but it didn’t seem to matter.
“That’s right, easy breaths. We’ll get clean then find some food,” I told him. If he didn’t fall asleep first.