Chapter 155 The Edge of Sleep
Chapter 155 The Edge of Sleep
Nate’s POV
The apartment was quiet in the way places get when the city finally exhales. No traffic rumbling below, no neighbors thumping around on the floors beneath us, no late‑night emails pinging my phone.
I woke because the bed was cold.
Not the kind of cold that comes from kicking off the blankets — the kind that comes from absence. The indentation beside me had already lost its warmth.
“Mila?”
My voice came out rough, sleep‑thick. I pushed myself upright, blinking against the dim amber light spilling through the curtains. The blankets on her side were twisted into a tight knot, like she’d been fighting something in her sleep.
She wasn’t in the bathroom. The door was cracked open, the space dark and still.
A faint draft brushed across my bare shoulders.
I turned toward the source — the floor‑to‑ceiling glass door leading to the balcony. It was open. Not wide, but enough for cold air to slip through and billow the sheer curtains like ghostly fabric.
And standing in the doorway, half a step onto the terrace, was Mila.
She was barefoot, wearing one of my shirts — the hem fluttering in the wind. Her arms hung rigid at her sides, fists clenched tight. Her head tilted slightly upward, eyes wide and unfocused, staring at nothing.
“Mila?”
She didn’t react.
She didn’t turn.
She didn’t blink.
She stepped forward.
Her toes brushed the stone ledge where the terrace sloped toward the glass balustrade — a waist‑high barrier that looked solid during the day but felt terrifyingly fragile in the dark. Beyond it, the city stretched out in a grid of indifferent lights, the drop dizzying even from inside.
I didn’t think.
I moved.
Three strides across the room, cutting through the curtains, the cold air slamming into my chest as I lunged. Her foot hovered over the final inch of stone, her body leaning forward as if pulled by some invisible thread.
I wrapped my arms around her waist and yanked her backward with everything I had.
We hit the hardwood floor hard. The impact knocked the breath out of both of us in a sharp, ragged gasp. Mila thrashed beneath me, a raw, feral cry ripping from her throat — a sound I’d never heard from her awake. She fought like she was drowning, like she was trapped somewhere far from here, her fists striking my shoulders with frantic, blind force.
“Get away! Let me go! Please—please, let me go—” she screamed, her voice cracking, her eyes still wide and glassy, staring straight through me.
“Mila,” I said, gripping her shoulders, keeping her pinned gently but firmly against the floor. “Mila, look at me. You’re safe. You’re here. I’ve got you.”
She didn’t hear me at first. Her breath came in violent, uneven bursts, her chest rising and falling like she’d been running for miles. Her legs kicked once, twice, then stilled only because I shifted my weight to keep her from hurting herself.
“Hey,” I whispered, lowering my forehead to hers, letting her feel the warmth of my skin. “Come back to me.”
Her thrashing slowed.
Her fists loosened.
Her breathing hitched, then stuttered, then broke into a trembling gasp.
She blinked — once, twice — the blank stare fracturing into something human, something terrified, something painfully awake.
“Nate?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
“I’m here,” I said, brushing her hair back from her face. “I’m right here.”
Her eyes darted around the room, confusion flickering across her features as she tried to piece together where she was, what had happened, and why she was on the floor instead of in bed. Her gaze landed on the open balcony door, the curtains whipping in the wind, and her breath caught.
“I—did I…?” Her voice broke.
“You were sleepwalking,” I said gently. “You didn’t know.”
She stared at me, horror slowly dawning in her expression. “I went outside?”
I nodded once.
Her hands flew to her mouth, her shoulders curling inward as if she could fold herself small enough to disappear. “Oh, my God. Nate, I—I didn’t mean— I wasn’t—”
“I know,” I said quickly, tightening my hold on her before she could pull away. “I know you didn’t.”
Her whole body shook. I could feel it in the way she clung to me, in the way her breath hitched against my chest.
“I didn’t even know I was dreaming,” she whispered. “I didn’t know I got up.”
I didn’t tell her how close she’d come to the edge. I didn’t tell her how my heart had stopped when I saw her silhouette against the glass. I didn’t tell her how fast I’d moved, or how the thought of losing her had hit me like a physical blow.
Instead, I pulled her into my lap, wrapping my arms around her as tightly as I dared. She buried her face in my shoulder, her breath warm and shaky against my skin.
“It felt so real,” she said after a long moment, her voice muffled against my shoulder. “The dream. It wasn’t like the others. It wasn’t just fear. It was… something else.”
I didn’t speak. I let her find the words.
“My parents,” she whispered. “The debts. The nights they’d leave me alone. The fights. The way they’d disappear for hours and come back acting as if nothing happened.” Her fingers curled into the fabric of my shirt. “I don’t know why it’s all showing up in my head now. I don’t know why it feels so… vivid.”
Her breath hitched, trembling. “It’s like pieces of something keep slipping into my dreams. And I don’t understand any of it.”
I rested my chin on the top of her head, my hand sliding slowly up and down her back. “You don’t have to understand it tonight.”
Her breathing slowly steadied, her body softening against mine as the adrenaline drained out of her system.
After a long stretch of silence, she whispered, “I scared you.”
I didn’t lie. “Yeah.”
Her fingers tightened around my arm.
“But I’m here,” I added. “And you’re safe.”
She nodded against my shoulder.
I shifted us both upright, keeping an arm around her as I reached back and nudged the balcony door shut with my foot. The latch clicked into place, sealing out the cold.
“Come on,” I murmured. “Let’s get you back to bed.”
She let me guide her, her steps slow and unsteady. When we reached the mattress, she crawled beneath the blankets, pulling them up to her chin like she needed the weight of them to anchor her.
I slid in beside her, pulling her close until her head rested against my chest. Her breath warmed my skin, her fingers curling lightly against my ribs.
“Nate?” she whispered.
“Yeah.”
“Don’t let me go.”
“I won’t.”
Her breathing evened out, her body relaxing inch by inch until sleep finally reclaimed her — real sleep this time, not the kind that dragged her toward open doors and dangerous edges.
I stayed awake long after her eyes closed, listening to the steady rhythm of her breath.
And I didn’t let go.
Not even for a moment.