Chapter 37: The Long Night
By the time they finished their ice cream, Del’s pain had dulled enough that she could make it upstairs without wincing at every step. The painkiller was working its way in, leaving her heavy-limbed and sluggish.
Her room was dim except for the soft glow from her desk lamp. She kicked off her slippers, dropped onto the bed, and her eyes landed on the grocery bag sitting at the foot. The pack of pads peeked out, still unopened. She let out a faint laugh, more a puff of breath. Somehow, the sight made her chest loosen.
It was silly, but it felt like proof that someone had been thinking of her when she couldn’t think straight for herself. That thought was enough. Del pulled her blanket up, curled on her side, and let the heaviness take her under.
Sometime after midnight, though, her sleep twisted.
She was small again. Her knees hugged her chest, her back pressed against the stale wood of a closet door. The air was hot, suffocating, and she could hear herself crying, thin, hiccupping sobs that echoed in her ears.
When the door creaked, she slipped out into a hallway that stretched and stretched, walls narrowing and fading into shadow.
“Mom? Dad?” Her voice bounced back at her. She started to run, her bare feet slapping the endless floor.
Then pain tore through her scalp; it was violent and sudden. Fingers knotted in her hair and wrenched her back so hard her neck jolted with a sick snap. She hit the floor, lungs seizing, legs kicking.
“Mom! Dad!” Her nails scraped uselessly against the ground, catching only splinters. She screamed until her throat burned raw, until her chest heaved. The hand only dragged harder, pulling her down into the dark that spread like water beneath her.
She begged. She shrieked. She called for her parents. For anyone. But the dark swallowed every cry and scream.
“Del!”
Her name broke through screams and cries.
Then she jerked awake, tears hot on her cheeks, and found Oliver on the edge of her bed. His hand was on her shoulder, shaking her gently, his face pulled tight with worry.
Confused and still in the nightmare, she shoved him back with a cry. “Don’t! Don’t touch me! Get away from me!”
“Hey, hey, it’s me,” he said quickly, hands raised but not leaving her. “It’s Oliver. You’re having a nightmare again.”
But her body wouldn’t hear it. She swung again, her nails catching his arm. Panic was still in her chest, spilling over in ragged gasps.
Oliver acted on instinct, leaning in and wrapping both arms around her before she could shove him away again. She fought, thrashing, fists beating against his chest.
“Del, stop! Stop! It’s okay. It’s me,” he said into her hair, even as she struggled. “It’s me. It’s Oliver.”
“Don’t touch me!” she screamed again.
He tightened his hold until he had her pinned beneath him, her wrists caught in his grip. His weight pressed her down, firm enough to stop her fighting but not crushing.
Her body bucked once more, then sagged into trembling sobs. The fight drained out of her, leaving only shivers and choked gasps.
Oliver loosened his grip just slightly, rubbing a hand over her back. “You’re safe. I’ve got you. It’s over.”
He didn’t let go right away. He stayed where he was, holding her until the sobs eased into softer, uneven breaths. Only then did he shift, careful not to startle her, guiding her back against the pillows. She resisted at first, her body stiff beneath his hands, but exhaustion won out. Her muscles slackened, and she allowed him to ease her down.
“There,” he said, adjusting the blanket around her shoulders. “Just breathe.”
She turned her face away, still damp with tears, but her breathing evened out in small increments.
“I’ll be right back,” Oliver said quietly. He waited long enough to make sure she wasn’t about to protest, then slipped out.
When he returned, he was carrying a cold bottle of ginger ale. He twisted the cap off and knelt by the bed.
“Sit up a little,” he said softly. She obeyed without speaking, eyes downcast. He held the bottle to her lips, steadying it so she could take a few small sips.
Once she leaned back again, he sat on the edge of the mattress and let out a breath.
“Listen… I know you said last time that you wanted me to pretend I couldn’t hear your screams. But I can’t do that, Del. I can’t sit in my bed knowing you’re—” He broke off, ran a hand through his hair, then tried again. “I just can’t listen and do nothing. That’s why I’m here. I’m sorry.”
She didn’t answer right away. Her eyes stayed fixed on the blanket, but her shoulders had loosened, her breath steady now. She looked less cornered, more worn out than anything.
Afterward, Oliver pushed himself up, giving her space. At the door, he hesitated, hand hovering over the light switch. “Do you want the lights left on?”
Del’s gaze flicked up to him, hesitant. Then, she asked, “Will you stay for a while?”
The question caught Oliver off guard. For a heartbeat, he thought he’d misheard. “Stay? You’re sure?”
This was another first for both of them.
Del’s expression tightened, and she gave a small huff. “I’m not going to ask twice.”
A corner of Oliver’s mouth tugged upward. “Alright.”
“Turn off the main,” she instructed, turning back toward her pillow. “Keep the side lamps.”
He obeyed, flicking off the ceiling light so that only the warm glow of the bedside lamps filled the room. The shadows softened, the corners less harsh. Oliver moved back to the bed, slipping onto the far side.
Del lay curled on her side, her back to him, blanket tucked close. He mirrored her position, lying on his side as well, but kept a respectful space between them. His arm folded under his head, the other resting at his side. He didn’t want to crowd her, didn’t want to risk breaking the fragile thread of calm she’d found.
After a while, Del’s breaths grew deeper, steadier, until she slipped back into sleep. Oliver listened for a while longer, his own eyes drifting shut, until the pull of rest caught him too.
By the time the night settled fully, both of them had drifted off.