Page 61 of Whispers in the Dark
“Dad! Mauro!” Leo screams from nearby.
I try to speak. To yell. To shout. To say fucking anything.
But a pain as I’ve never felt before spreads over my neck, burning me from the inside out. Reaching up, I feel it. Blood. Lots of it. I hold out my hand, watching the red liquid drip onto my shirt.
Leo appears at my side, fear coating his eyes. “Mauro! I’m going to get you out of here.” He lifts me under my arms, dragging me away from the building. Ripping off his shirt, he presses it to my throat, and I want to scream out, but a strangled groan is the only thing that escapes me. He pulls out his phone and speaks forcefully into it. His words float in one ear and out the other. Nothing makes sense.
He takes my hand and clasps it over the soaked fabric. “Hold this. I’ll be right back. I need to find Dad!”
He jumps up and turns in the direction of the burning building.
My breaths are labored.
My throat feels like it’s about to close up.
I gulp for air.
Clutching at my throat, parting my lips as wide as they’ll go.
But oxygen doesn’t come.
I feel like a fish fighting for its life out of water, gasping for air.
“Mauro!”
Can’t. Breathe.
“Mauro!”
I wake with a sharp gasp, bolting upright in bed, my eyes locked with the biggest pair of beautiful brown eyes I’ve ever seen.
“You were dreaming,” Alina says softly, brushing her fingers tenderly over my temple. “It was just a dream.”
Her pale skin illuminates the dark space, our room lit up by the shimmering full moon. She watches me with concern inher eyes and a tenderness in her touch. The white T-shirt—my T-shirt—she wears clings to her curves as the collar stretches across her shoulder, exposing her skin.
She’s so beautiful, I feel like I have no right to look at her.
“Are you okay?”
I realize I’ve been staring and force my gaze downward. With a slow breath, I let my shoulders fall and drag a hand through my hair before signing,Nightmare.
But it wasn’t a nightmare.
Not really.
Because it was a memory.
One I’ve carried for over seven years since the day everything was taken from me. My voice and my dad.
Gone.
The thought detonates in my chest, stealing the air from my lungs, my throat burning with everything I never got to take back.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Her hand slides from my neck to the center of my chest, resting there as if she can steady the chaos beneath her palm. “Your heart is beating so fast.”
Breathing in a lungful of air, I place my hand over hers and tap my finger twice, waiting for my body to calm down.
After a minute, I reach over and switch on the lamp. I grab the notepad and pen from my nightstand, settle them in my lap, and write quickly before I lose the nerve.
