Silent Screams (Hollow #1)

CHAPTER 17

On Thursday, Damon asks me to meet with a potential new client. I’m nervous but I go in prepared, ready with a set of questions I found on one of Katherine’s templates.

I’m happy when she’s a young businesswoman and we connect right away.

“How was it?” Damon asks, dropping a stack of papers on my desk when I’m done with my meeting.

I smile, and it feels good.

Butterflies kick at my insides and not only because of the man in front of me. I’m glad to have met a client on my own. I know it’s not a major client and that’s why he didn’t mind sending me, but his trust in me and my work ethic means something.

“Good,” I tease, lifting my shoulder up and down.

Damon smiles with his eyes. He doesn’t give me the usual laugh or smile that most people do. But his eyes do all the talking, the smiling.

He’s happy right now.

“Email me a summary. I have a meeting soon. Hold my calls. ”

I nod even though I already know this. He likes to remind me from time to time how to do my job.

No matter. I’m in a good mood when I head out of the office with Marie and Emon for lunch today. Even the cold front that February brings can’t sour my mood.

Until late afternoon.

Damon’s meeting doesn’t go as well as mine did, if the shouting match is any indication. The screaming is coming from the client, not Damon.

Damon doesn’t have to revert to such emotions.

While our reports are as neutral as can be and are more guidelines than imperative rules per se, businesses don’t like the fact that the public can easily find out if they deviated from following environmental precautions.

Something that once didn’t seem important now begs for the questions to be answered.

Hence why many businesses hate Damon’s firm.

While Damon doesn’t do shouting, he does anger. He does anger so well it makes me want to lock his office door to keep him in. Because now the wolf is out to play and I’m the weak, vulnerable rat under his paw.

“Where’s that summary? Did you finish the report I sent you this morning?”

He throws off two more questions before heading back to his office. This time, I follow him and close the door behind me.

“What’s wrong with you?” I don’t know what makes me ask. Usually, I’d happily keep my mouth shut.

He turns on his heel, one brow arches up, and he looks genuinely confused by my question.

“Don’t take it personally, Gemma. I need the work to get done.” He walks in front of his desk and flips the pages of his agenda. “This is why we shouldn’t... now you can’t even take a simple order?”

“Simple order? Damon, you don’t need to bark orders at me for me to do top-quality work, okay? Don’t you dare bring that up. I know you’re my boss; you shouldn’t use us as an excuse to treat me like this...”

“Come here,” he says, tilting his head to gesture for me to go to him. I do, albeit reluctantly. When I’m right next to him, his eyes glimmer with mischief when he views my outfit before the darkness and numbness settles in again. “There is no us . I told you this.”

I’m hurt but I can’t show it.

“You know what I mean.”

Yesterday with Harvey, my heart ripped open. Today, it’s bleeding out.

I don’t know why it hurts much worse with Damon. Because it’s further rejection? Because I love spending time with him, even at work?

I don’t say anything else. I leave him be to finish that report. I already emailed him the summary of my meeting.

He’s given me two more reports to draft with many documents to read for each project. It means another late night and once again my text goes unanswered when I let Harvey know.

I’m clueless as to why I even bother anymore.

It’s thirty minutes past seven when I email Damon one of my reports. He left earlier today, and I wonder why.

I check his calendar before my office phone rings.

“Gemma Ackerman speaking,” I say when I pick up.

“Gemma.”

His voice over the phone—I forgot how rough and manly it sounds. It’s enough to send a tingle down there.

“Did I receive a package from TruffleOil and Co. after I left?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you bring it to me? It’ll count as overtime.”

I can’t bring myself to speak. Of course, more money is important to me but it’s more than that. Going to his place, it’s a hard line to uncross. There’s no going back from that. We’ll have privacy and access to furniture.

Hurt blue eyes flash in my mind.

“Sure. Sure.” I sound convincing even though I’m not. Not even one percent convinced that this is the right move.

“My driver will pick you up.”

He hangs up, and my hands wander through my hair.

I can do this. Go in, drop the package, and get out.

Go home. Leave. Don’t stay.

I don’t understand why he can’t fetch it himself. I know he’s busy and has two deadlines coming up, but he could ask his driver to pick it up.

I send off a few emails, trying to settle my nerves before turning off my computer and putting on my coat. I make sure not to forget the package, grabbing it from his desk using his office key that I have in case.

I don’t wait in the lobby more than fifteen minutes before Damon calls me to tell me his driver just pulled up front and not to make him wait.

“How far is it from your place?” I ask him as I settle in the backseat.

“Over twenty minutes. I’ll see you soon.”

He doesn’t say bye. He simply hangs up, and I hate it. It takes a second to say bye and yet he can’t even give me that courtesy.

“Ms. Ackerman.” His driver smiles.

“Hi... I’m Gemma.” We’ve never formally been introduced.

“Joey.” Despite the wrinkles surrounding his eyes when he looks back at me, I can tell he was once a dashing young man. “I’ll be taking you to Mr. Dreygon’s home.” He smiles.

“Thank you, Joey.” I look out the window, at the busy streets, the lights, and the falling snow. My nerves boil like a cup full of fire, the pressure building and building .

I face the front of the car to distract myself. That’s when I realize this isn’t Damon’s Tesla. We’re in another car.

Silence reigns between Joey and me but it manages to extract comfortableness.

Until we reach Damon’s place. Then I’m terribly nervous.

It’s dark by the time I step out, yet the outdoor lights showcase the square-shaped architecture of his house. Massive windows surround the length of it.

Damon opens the door, and I face the man who’s been haunting my dreams lately.

“Come in, Gemma.”

I step inside before he closes the door behind me, our bodies in close contact. Thankfully or unfortunately, depending on who you ask—my brain or my sex—he moves backward to give me space as I check around.

So different in contrast to my small, cozy home.

It makes all of this real—so real. That we’re at a point where I’m spending time with him at his place.

I hand him the package, staring at his unruly hair. He’s fresh out of the shower, barefoot in jeans with a white T-shirt. He shaved, and the clean-cut cheeks make him look younger, approachable.

I want to pinch his cheeks. Just because.

“Drink?” He walks to the bar side of his beautiful marble, navy, and gold kitchen.

I shake my head. “I’m driving.”

“Joey can drive you home and pick you up tomorrow.”

“No, Damon. I can’t park there overnight.” I’m not sure of this, but I need an excuse, a way out to put some distance between us.

I don’t know what I want.

Actually, I do. I really do.

But what I want might not be good for me, healthy. It might be a poisonous obsession that turns my veins dark, dark enough to dim down the last remaining light inside of me.

The amber liquid ends up in a fancy glass of his. I can’t tell what it is. I know my beers and some wines and that’s about it.

He takes his drink and leads us to his living room, where he sits on the caramel leather couch. I remove my heels and sit on one of the single sofas across from him, crossing and uncrossing my legs.

He eyes my coat, a fire piercing his gaze, as if I’m wearing too much clothing.

Maybe I am. For what I want, truly crave from him, I guess I am.

“Why am I here, Damon?”

He glances at the flatscreen TV, a boxing game playing in the background, before his eyes land on mine. Dark and brooding. With the jerk of his chin, he’s inviting me over to the couch he’s sitting on.

I’m torn. Because this man makes me want to get lost in him and his body so bad, I worry I’ll forget my loyalty back home.

He makes me feel. And by God, it’s been a while since I have. Felt anything.

Tempted by the devil, I saunter over to him. Eyes hooded. Knees trembling. My pussy pulsing.

I put one leg on the sofa, then another, sitting on my knees. The look he gives me makes me feel like the weapon he’s found to win a battle.

Drink down, his hand is now free to roam. Free to please me. And that’s when I completely shut down and refuse to think of the consequences—all my focus is on Damon instead.

Leaning forward, he unbuttons one button of my wool winter coat, his hand creating a frisson of heat.

I’m melting and shaking and feeling.

I’m soaring, up and up, close to the sun. I’ll get burned, no doubt about it, but the experience will be well worth the ending, the destination.

“I wanted to see you outside the office. That’s why you’re here,” he whispers against my ear, pushing the coat off my shoulders. I feel naked without it. My nipples are poking at my bra, high and hard, and I’m glad I had the decency to ditch my cotton undergarments today for a set of ivory lace.

“You could’ve asked—you control freak.”

His lip tugs at the side but he says nothing, for a while he does nothing. We’re staring at each other, and my heart wants to break free. Break free and land in his hands, and what a stupid, stupid thought that is after all the warnings he sent my way.

I’m breathing so loudly.

I can tell he wants me; he wants to fuck me. Badly. By the look in his eyes, he’s probably thinking of a thousand ways to have me.

“You wouldn’t have come.” He flips my hair away from my shoulder.

He’s right. Without a work-related motive, I don’t think I would’ve agreed to come here tonight.

“I can’t keep up with you,” I admit honestly. “You push and pull constantly.” Either toward him or far, far away from him.

“I don’t think you heard my warnings loud and clear. Sometimes you look at me like you want more.” He tips my chin with his forefinger, and I can’t think straight. I’m officially high off sexual tension and lust. “Do you want more?”

I shake my head, take a deep breath, and release. It shows my vulnerability, maybe even my eagerness to have sex with him, but I don’t relent.

“More of your body. I want more of your body.” For good measure, I add, “You’ll never have my heart—it belongs to the man back home.”

His face falls and the sideline of his jaw flexes. Then he weaves his fingers through my hair, holding me in place at the scalp.

Soft pink lips reach closer and closer, and my heart rate surges. I’m burning, my body humming with a tingling sensation, and he’s barely touched me.

If I’m going to hell for what I’m doing—if I’m betraying and breaking my loyalties—I better enjoy the taste of my sins.

So I let my hands wander in his hair, while he grabs my body to settle over his. The act itself lifts my skirt up quite high, enabling me to straddle him.

My sex is perfectly aligned with the rock-hard bulge at the front of his jeans, while my breasts heave against his muscled chest.

“Gemma...” He leans in, kissing my throat, and I burn up an extra fifty degrees.

God. Him.

“What you do to me.” Another kiss. “If I have to take another cold shower, I’ll catch pneumonia.”

I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t be beaming at his revelation, but I am. Buzzing with need. Damon rarely gives, rarely compliments, so this means something to me.

He wants me.

And it makes me feel like I can take over the world.

My hand finally cups his face, my fingers skirting his clean jaw. “So soft,” I whisper, and he closes his eyes, dark lashes spiking up in greeting.

“You like it clean?”

He’s referring to his beard, of course. “You look younger without it. I feel like I can ask you anything... spill all my secrets.”

When he opens his eyes again, he takes my hand in his and kisses one finger at a time. “And the stubble?”

What can I say about his five-o’clock shadow? “I want to feel it all over me... ”

He mumbles something under his breath, and I lean forward, arms around his neck, staring at this beautiful specimen of a man.

Nice lips. Narrow dark, dark brown eyes. Frowning eyebrows. Fuck-me hair.

And his body? His body was made for sin. I don’t have to see him naked to know this man is rocking hard abs, among other things.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, eyes locked on my lips. Lips that he’s teasing with his thumb. Lips that are about to meet his.

I’m a pile of mush by the time he finally, finally moves his mouth close to mine. He’s going to kiss me.

This. Is. It.

He holds my chin firmly with one hand until no distance remains between our lips, and they touch. A heat wave hits my insides. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt, and I’m afraid I’ll get addicted. Like a lighter flicking booze roaming through my bloodstream.

Damon captures my lips with his, hands holding my neck in place. My breasts touch his chest, removing the remaining gap between us.

We kiss and we kiss.

And it’s as if I’m about to go on a trip to the moon after jumping from a plane.

He never slides in his tongue. He just grasps onto my lips with his. But if I’m sinning, I want to brave the murky waters, so I tease my tongue slowly into his mouth, encouraged by his propelling groans.

He then puts pressure, an immense load of it, on my hips with his hand while the other still holds my neck in place.

I stop. I need to breathe. I can’t breathe.

He doesn’t have to tell me to stop looking at him with heart-shapes in my eyes. I know . I know I’m looking at him like he can hand me the world because it sure feels like it. It needs to stop .

He warned me. No catching feelings. No white picket fence.

Just sex. Just lust.

He doesn’t ask me why I pull away. He waits and waits as if he knows I’ll want more.

I do.

I kiss him, moaning when his tongue finally plays with mine. His mouth is so warm. He’s sinking lower on the couch, bringing down my body with him. I’m feasting on his mouth and he’s feasting on mine.

He takes and he takes, but oh God, does he give.

I can’t even think about what an orgasm with him would be like. We’re kissing and I’m ready to lose all sense of everything around me except for the man holding me captive.

I have to remember to leave my heart out of it.

I really, really do.

He untucks my cream blouse from the black skirt, his fingers tracing my back and then my waist beneath the blouse, spreading goosebumps everywhere like a dragon’s fire.

We’re only kissing, yet I’m so horny it hurts.

My body wants this so bad it’s ready to exile my heart and mind.

“Damon...” I moan, his white tee rumpled between my fingers. I’m burning. Fuck, I want this!

He swiftly flips us over, him towering over me, between my legs while my back lies on the leather fabric of the couch. His hand goes on exploring, fingers squeezing the black mesh stocking over my ankle until he finds the band mid-thigh.

So close to where I want him to be.

He looks at my stockings then his eyes drift to mine. “I can’t tell you how many times a day I picture bending you over my desk.” He’s fingering my lower stomach as he says this, his brows knitting at the thin white scar from the accident on the side of my stomach .

I freeze for a second, waiting to see if he’ll ask me about it, but he doesn’t.

As I stare at this man, I desperately want to know why he doesn’t want a relationship. One question sears through my mind: Who was she and what happened?

I refrain. From asking, from demanding answers, because he scares away easily. And I don’t want to stop feeling his hands all over me.

We’re both breathing loudly, both deeply affected by the other’s touch, when I hear my phone ring, the sound vibrating against the couch, in the pocket of my coat.

Damon looks at me, his eyes asking if I will pick up.

I gulp, pulling my skirt down, while he hands me my coat. I fish my phone out, and my heart stops when I see Harvey’s name flash on the screen.

Tears burn my eyes because I know I’ll pick up in case it’s an emergency. And he’ll hear it, Harvey will hear my voice, he’ll know something is up. He might ask questions I’ll provide lies to.

I should feel horrible for doing this behind his back. A part of me does but the biggest part of me wants Damon too much to abstain from having him.

Damon eyes the name on the screen, his brow arching up, before he stands up, his hand fixing his hair.

I take a deep breath and walk away from him, needing distance for this call.

“Hey,” I say as normally as I possibly can. I’m not sure I succeed. My hands are shaking, my heart is aching, my pussy is screaming for the abandonment issues it already has.

“What time will you be back?” Why is he asking me this? He never does. Is Claire still over? Is he doing the same thing I’m doing? The thought etches into my stomach like an acidic potion.

“I’m heading out soon. Why? Do you need anything— ”

“—I’m fine . . .”

“Are you sure?” I ask, staring at the painting on Damon’s wall. Such a sad painting, like the one in his office.

Oh Damon, what happened to you? Will you ever tell me?

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I’ll see you soon.” I hesitate a few seconds to see if he’ll say anything else. When he doesn’t, I say goodbye and end the call.

I feel Damon behind me. I need a second, a minute, to calm my nerves.

His erection presses against my ass, and I lean my head on his shoulder, eyes closed. I want to savor this moment because I don’t know if it’ll happen again.

“I have to go.” My voice sounds so raw and pained.

He grabs me gently by the hair, tilting my head to give him access to my lips. A first kiss. A second one. I’m so weak I don’t know how I’ll drive back home. I’m high and drunk on Damon Dreygon, and the side effects don’t easily dissipate.

He kisses my forehead before he says, “I’ll drive you back to work.”

That’s all he says. He pulls away, and I turn to face him, catching a glimpse of an unreadable shadow in the pit of his eyes.

“Don’t you have work to do? Deadlines? I can cab.”

His expression is serious. “After. I’m driving you back.” I know he could call Joey, but instead he chooses not to. He chooses to spend more time with me. Time where we won’t be kissing or moaning. And that makes me feel utterly special.

He takes my coat, and we reach the entrance of his home. I slip it on before he grabs the collar to pull me to him.

I just stare at him. I know his lesson is coming, something more is coming.

“I won’t share you, Gemma.” His hand traces down my neck, over my breasts. It doesn’t matter that I’m wearing a coat. My nipples are excited, delighted even. “If I’m to have your body—he can’t have you.” His pupils are almost black as he says this, and I can’t deny the rush I feel at the slight possessiveness in his tone.

I swallow. “And me? What do I get in return?”

“I’ll extend the same courtesy. I won’t do other women.” There they are—the words I’ve desperately been looking for—the words I’m hoping mean something to him.

“So you won’t share me physically but you don’t care that I love another man?”

He pulls back and walks to a massive closet where he puts on his coat and black boots. Why does he have to look so darn good?

“I’m not after your heart.”

My eyes sting, but I quickly recuperate. I don’t know why it hurts, just that it does. Maybe it’s because I’m facing so much rejection from two men at once?

I need time to formulate a response, to bargain, to ask for more. I don’t even know why. I’m clearly not thinking straight, not thinking of Harvey or his family or mine.

Only my own needs.

I have my heels on and my purse in hand when I finally manage to ask what it is that I want to know. We’re both sitting in his Tesla, driving away from his house.

“What if I need more?”

Silence. The seconds tick by.

I’m glad darkness surrounds us, masking my humiliation. He turns to face me, and if it’s even possible, he looks even more beautiful with the shadows of the night embracing his facial features.

“Define ‘more.’”

“I know nothing about you.” It’s true I don’t. Can I really justify further betraying Harv and everything we ever stood for for a man I don’t even know?

“It’s better this way, don’t you think? ”

I shake my head in disagreement.

He sighs. “Well, fire away. What do you want to know?”

I look out the window, then close my eyes briefly. I know what I want to ask. I want to know why he doesn’t want more. Why he’s single. Why he has very sad paintings that follow him around: his home, his office.

I know anything of this nature will set him off, so I start easy.

“What were you like as a teen?”

“That’s what you’re dying to know?” He scoffs in disbelief, his hand lying lazily atop the steering wheel. It’s not, not at all, but it’ll have to do for now.

“Were you a player?”

“No. No, I wasn’t. I was skinny back then.” He says it as if that would’ve changed his pretty face. I don’t believe for a second that he didn’t break a few hearts, even if unknowingly.

He takes his other hand and grips the back of my neck. “And you? How many hearts did you break, Gemma?”

I avoid his stare. I’m breaking one right now. A very, very important one. A heaviness tugs at my chest, the physical pain becoming more pronounced.

Can’t you see? You’ll be the one to break mine. Harvey’s words the night we met take stage front and center in my mind.

“I dated a guy my last year of high school...” He removes his hand from my neck. And I miss it. I miss his touches when they’re absent. “Then I dated, nothing serious in college.”

“Until him.” He doesn’t say his name, but we both know he saw it on my phone screen.

“Yeah.” His fingers flex around the steering wheel, and I wonder if he isn’t a little bit curious the way I am about his past.

We approach our work building, and my heart drops at the thought of being away from Damon. It’s a silly feeling—it’s sick even—to be this dependent on him.

When he parks next to the van, he turns to me, his thumb playing with my bottom lip, his scent hitting all the right spots. “Thank you for coming tonight.”

I nod. “Hopefully I earned that overtime,” I mock, and I think he’s smiling; it’s always so hard to tell with him. Despite wanting to kiss him, I don’t. There’s so much to think about, so much I need to process before I dip my toes further into the Dreygon pool.

Like a gentleman, Damon steps inside our building to grab my leather winter boots. Then he hands them to me out in the parking lot, touches my cheek with his forefinger before I walk to my car.

My drive back home is quiet. I don’t put music on. I don’t answer Gia’s phone call.

Nothing.

Except me and my thoughts.

And plenty of Damon.

And Harvey.

My chest hurts. My heart hurts. I don’t want to hurt Harv.

It’ll destroy me, destroy us.

More than we’re already ruined.

I’m ruining us more than we already are.

God, what am I doing?

My stomach churns... my hands are sweaty around the steering wheel, and it has nothing to do with the heat weaving through the car.

Who would’ve thought? Me at twenty-four years old, with a boyfriend who dislikes me and refuses to touch me? Who would’ve thought that life would be this complicated?

I park the car in the driveway of my house. I stay immobile for who knows how long, not knowing what’s waiting for me inside. I smell my coat.

It smells like him. I’m so screwed.

I take out a small sample of perfume that I always keep in my purse and spray it around my neck .

You’re the worst girlfriend. The worst. Harvey needs you.

I’m trembling, shaking. I don’t even remember the walk inside. I shower quickly to get rid of Damon’s smell despite not wanting to. It comforts me; it gives me hope.

I’m in nothing but a Calvin Klein thong and long T-shirt when I walk to Harvey’s room to see if he’s still up. The door to his room is slightly ajar, he probably forgot to close it completely. Sometimes he does that.

Then I hear it.

Moaning. Screaming.

Dirty, dirty sex.

I halt my steps for a second, my heart hammering against my chest, until I see his laptop next to him. It’s dark in his room, the porn he’s viewing a million times more visible.

He’s watching two girls fuck each other.

In the previous life we shared, I would’ve laughed and offered to watch it together.

But this is now.

It isn’t the porn that kills me, it’s the harsh jerks of his hand over his cock. The grunts coming out of his mouth.

Why can’t you do that with me? Why, why ?

I want to interrupt, to yell at him, to take his laptop and curse it with a wand.

I thought he avoided me because he couldn’t get it up.

I’m angry, livid. Still, my eyes stay glued to his erection—I haven’t seen it in such a long time. He always refused to have me in the room when the nurse helped him bathe after the accident.

Oh, Harvey. What are we doing?

How can I be mad? How can I be after the night I spent with Damon? How can I want two men at once? Crave different things from each of them?

The walk to my room burns like a tunnel to hell. Inside, I’m screaming—raging. I’m in purgatory and there’s nothing to do but to replay the story of my sins .

I don’t even check my phone before crawling to bed until it vibrates. It’s Gia again. I text her back.

Gemma: Tired, just got home. Talk to you tomorrow. xox

My heart stops. Drops. Freezes. I suck in a breath when I realize Damon texted me. I exhale, then brace for impact.

Damon: Are you home?

I feel revived. Harvey’s porn in the back corner of my mind. I message him:

Gemma: Yeah . . . in my bed.

The next text I get from him sets my soul on fire, my heart on fire, my thighs on fire. My sex is exploding—ready to bloom.

Damon: You should be in mine.

I don’t even know why, I check to make sure my door is locked. As if that will change anything. Harvey’s probably sleeping from his jerk fest.

I don’t know what makes me do it—call the man I spent the evening kissing.

“Hey.” His voice is low, husky. It brings me back. Brings me back to his touches. To his lips over my throat, over my lips, over my forehead.

“Hey. Are you working hard?” I know despite him saying that he wanted to see me tonight that he really did need the package to look at the technicalities of the project.

“I am.”

“You’re not tired?” Damon doesn’t stop. Even at work, he’s always on the go. I wonder what he does to unwind, relax .

“Sleep is overrated,” he mutters, and a sliver of lust sparks my body from the sound of his voice.

“It’s important. To keep your good looks as you age... and your wife happy.”

“Oh, Gemma... you’re good but not that sneaky.”

What does that even mean?

“You warned me, I get it.” Honestly, his warnings annoy me. The more he warns, the more the rebel in me latches onto him. “You can still explain why you want to be single.”

“All of your questions lead to one thing, and I don’t want to talk about it.” He’s firm as he says this, the issue resolved in his mind. There’ll be no negotiating on his part.

“Because it’s too painful?”

I feel his frustration through the phone. “Does it matter? The results are the same.”

I debate saying what I want to say next. In the end, I do. “Life’s too short to let your past keep you in an ivory tower.”

“Gemma...” The way he says my name is like a caress to the soul. It tingles my insides.

I like the way Damon makes me feel. Scratch that—I love it.

I wait, and finally he says, “The day you leave your boyfriend , a man who clearly doesn’t give you what you want, I’ll leave my ivory tower.”

His words hang in the air. I hate his words. I hate talking about Harvey. Harvey’s a topic I protect from anyone, Damon included.

“It’s complicated,” I say in defense.

“It always is.” I don’t answer him back. My nerves are back with a wishful vengeance, and I don’t know what to do other than go to sleep and hope that tomorrow breathes easier.

“Goodnight, Damon.”

“Goodnight, Red.”

I hang up. My pussy is warm, my heart is filled, my breaths heavy and shallow. I’m so, so torn. I picture my night with Damon, and Harvey touching himself.

And I’m jealous. Jealous of the girls Harvey was watching. Jealous of the girls Damon had or will have sex with.

I want two men for very different reasons, and the thought makes me want to cry. The screaming lady is already spewing her anger inside my head.

I want to sleep to forget about everything, but I don’t.

I don’t sleep at all that night.