Ethan tried to throw off his comforter, the fabric prickling his skin as if it had come to life, strangling him but his muscles didn't respond.

He focused on his unmoving hand, resting over the white of the comforter. He imagined his fingertips moving, tried to bring his imagination to life but it didn't work.

And how could it when he could see his father so clearly, standing at the edge of the bed, glaring at Ethan. He felt as if he was six again, powerless and pathetic.

He felt the sweat blinding on the back of his neck, felt as the droplets trickled down his bare back. He closed his eyes and counted the seconds in his head, trying to remind himself that he was safe.

A nightmare couldn't hurt him.

Seconds melted into minutes before Ethan felt sensation flooding back to his nerves. He sat upright with a choked gasp, clawing at his throat for oxygen.

He reached for the switchboard, turning the lights on. He grabbed the jug from the side table with shaky hands only to find it empty.

"Fuck," he groaned and the jug slipped from his hands, shattering into a million pieces on the floor.

He gritted his teeth and glared at the mess he'd made.

He got down from the bed carefully, criss crossing his way through the glass as he made his way towards the door.

Something sharp pricked his feet but he ignored it, navigating his way to the kitchen through the darkness.

He could walk through this place with his eyes closed, aware of the tiniest details by now like the slightly off kilted ottoman or the sharp edge of the book shelf.

He felt the walls until his fingers touched the switch board and he flipped it on.

"Oh, fuck," he whispered, still on edge as Amelia came into view.

Despite how many times he had imagined her roaming the halls of his home like she belonged here, the real sight still left him breathless.

She stared at him with wide eyes, full of wonder and things Ethan found himself unable to see. Her hair was disheveled, haphazardly tied into a bun that stuck to the top of her head with only a few last strands. He noticed the way her shirt hung around her body, leaving so much to his imagination.

There was something so vulnerable and intimate seeing her in his kitchen, her guard so down she looked like an entirely different person.

He allowed himself to wonder what could have been if he could allow her to stay here forever.

But then his night terror came rushing back and he dismissed the thought as quickly as it had invaded his head. He couldn't let anyone see him like this.

He noticed her gaze stray across his chest, a wild look in her eyes. He realized he was shirtless. It left a thrill in his chest, to know that she might also think about the things he thought when he looked at her.

Her eyes traveled up and onto his face and she finally caught him watching. Her eyes widened and she immediately averted her gaze, her cheeks getting pink.

He found himself smiling and he cleared his throat to get rid of the smile.

"I just wanted some water," he said as he walked into the kitchen, flipping open cabinets to find a water bottle or a jug.

"Oh. You can stay if you want. I was going to bed anyway."

"What's that?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder and towards the brown bag that rested on the counter in front of her.

She shifted in her position uncomfortably and something heavy settled in the pit of his stomach.

He thought of a guy sending her whatever was in the paper bag. He imagined her coming to him the next day, asking to terminate their contract because she had finally found something who was willing to treat her right, who was willing to open up to her, willing to show her all the ugly parts and her accepting all of that because that was just how she was built.

"What is that, Amelia?" he asked, taking a step towards her.

She met his eyes, a challenge burning in those thunderstorms.

"It's a gift," she whispered.

He was close now and he spotted the mask on her face. It made him stop. She had always presented herself so openly so why the facade now? What was she hiding?

"Someone's sending you gifts at midnight?" he asked.

"Why does it matter if someone is?" she asked and he got the wildest feeling that there was something specific she wanted him to say.

He had no idea what it was.

He leaned forward and he heard her inhale sharply, as if he was going to burn her. He didn't look at her, partly because of that mask she suddenly wore and it felt like he was in the dark now, grappling for bits and pieces to form an image of what she wanted from him.

He grabbed the paper bag and pulled it towards him. She tried to protest but it was half hearted and Ethan ignored her.

He pulled the little white box out and flipped it open.

"It's your birthday?" he asked, staring back at the bento cake with red hearts over white frosting, feeling a little pathetic but also sure about his theory now.

It made his stomach churn. But it couldn't be possible. She wouldn't be staying at another man's place, however platonically, if she had someone else to go home to.

She sighed, like he had somehow disappointed her. He took a step back.

"Yes and it's from my brother. Not a boyfriend," she said and Ethan frowned at her, wondering when he had become so easy to read.

"I never said it was," he replied.

"I know. And why would you care even if it was?" she said as she slid down the chair and sidestepped him, walking away, leaving Ethan wondering what had just happened.

Ethan watched her walk away but then she paused and bent down, frowning at something on the floor.

"Why's there blood here?" She asked and now it was Ethan's turn to frown.

"Blood? I don't know," he said, walking towards her.

She stared at his feet, then snapped her gaze to his face.

"You're bleeding," she stated, an unreadable look on her face.

"No, I'm not," Ethan protested. He must have felt something if he was injured.

"Sit down," she said, pulling out a chair for him from under the counter.

He obliged, leaning down to inspect his foot.

"Oh," he said. There was a shard of glass sticking out from the side of his sole.

She dropped down to her knees to inspect the wound closely.

Ethan gave himself an internal shake to get rid of his uninvited, unholy thoughts.

"Did you walk through glass?" she asked, staring at him like he was a child caught sneaking out past bedtime.

Ethan breathed a sigh of relief. This was normal. He could see her now, her concern in the lines of her forehead, the reprimanding look in her eyes.

He rolled his eyes, just to make sure they were truly back to normal.

"I must have stepped on it by mistake."

He tried to pull his foot out of her grip but she yanked it back towards her.

"Ow. What the hell, Amelia?"

"There is a shard sticking from your feet that needs to be pulled out. How did you not feel this before? You must have left a track of blood," she said, glancing over her shoulder to where he had come from.

"I must be sleepy," he said.

I was too shaken from my night terror and didn't have my wits about me, was what he meant.

"Where's the first aid kit?" she asked.

"You don't have to. I can do it myself."

"I know you can but you shouldn't," she echoed his words back at him, fixing him with a glare.

And even though there was no one in the world who could make Ethan do something he didn't wanted to do, he gave in to her glares and her soft touches too easily.

"There will be one in your bathroom. Probably the bottom drawer under the sink."

"Stay here. I'll be back."

"Okay," he said as she got up and ran towards her room.

She paused halfway through. "I'm serious. Do not move."

"Jeez, Amelia, relax. I'm not going to bolt," he rolled his eyes, only to stop the smile from appearing on his face.

She didn't smile back. Instead, something heavy settled in the lines of her face but she turned around and ran into the darkness before he could try to understand the look.

The brown paper bag caught his attention, forcing him to recall their brief interaction and what it was that she wanted from him. It felt important that he figure it out

He wondered if he should do anything for her birthday. Maybe that's what she wanted. But he didn't even know her birthday before this, so how could she expect him to do anything? And why was she expecting him to celebrate her birthday? Their relationship was contractual. She wasn't his girlfriend.

The word left a tangy taste on his tongue.

He closed his eyes. He'd tried to quash whatever he was feeling for her but it hadn't worked.

And how could it when he'd gone ahead and invited her to stay with him?

Even though he'd spent the last two days avoiding her, staying in his room or spending as much time as possible in his office, all he had wanted to do was put himself out there in front of her.

It was driving him crazy.

And now, she was going to be touching him.

He gritted his teeth and exhaled loudly. He was so completely fucked

She came back with a red and white box in her hand and Ethan studied her. The mask was still there but he could see her through the cracks. It made him relax, if only a little.

"Put your feet here," she said, pulling out another chair in front of him. He obliged.

"I'm going to pull the glass out, okay," she said, taking out a blob of cotton and some antiseptic.

Ethan inhaled as soon as her warm hand touched his cold feet.

"Does it hurt?" she asked, frowning up at him. "I haven't even done anything yet."

It did hurt. Not because of the piece of glass stuck in his skin but because she was touching him so tenderly and it made everything inside him twist painfully.

What had he done with his life? In his struggle to protect himself and become the scariest man in any room he entered, he had turned into the biggest coward.

Because he could see his life now and it wasn't all bleak and bleeding darkness. He could see light and hope in it. And he could keep that ray of light all for himself. All he had to do was ask. All he had to do was bear his heart to her and trust her to not rip it in shreds.

All he had to do was trust. But that was something Ethan had forgotten how to do, ever since he'd lost his mother.

The wall around his heart was rock solid now and it was difficult to take apart the bricks no matter how desperately he wanted to.

He closed his eyes and he didn't feel anything as she pulled the shard from his feet because all he could feel was the growing ache in his chest, the desperation to have her all for himself, the need to punch something until the wall shattered and he learned how to love.

"Got it," she exclaimed. He didn't open his eyes.

"Ethan, does it hurt too much?" she asked and he heard the worry and concern in her voice.

"Yes," he whispered and his voice cracked.

"I'm sorry. It's almost over."

He only nodded.

"Can I ask you something?" she asked and her voice came from somewhere behind him.

He opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder to see her discarding the used cotton and the piece of glass.

"Go ahead."

"What happened to the man? You know... the one at the club?"

Ethan closed his eyes, preparing himself for another set of lies.