Moth to a Flame

by Cambria Hebert

  “You can open them now,” she said a moment later, her voice still close, making my heart thump with anticipation.

  So I did.

  Scratch, scratch.

  The unsettling sound interrupted the already fitful sleep I was fighting for.

  Scratch, scratch.

  Eyes springing open, I pushed up from beneath the covers, the night air brushing over my flushed skin. Even though I was overheated, the air made me shiver.

  Or maybe it had been the dream.

  No. Not dream. Memory.

  That little scratch, scratch sound would likely haunt me forever, a memory turned into a dream. Bending my knee, my foot pressing flat against the mattress, I let out a deep breath. I’d been hoping sleep wouldn’t be so fleeting tonight. I’d hoped the exhaustion I felt from the last few days would be victorious over the nightmares forever plaguing me.

  Hope. Despite the endless disappointments in my life, I still clung to it. It often disappointed me, yet I always came back for more.

  Glancing at the clock, I sighed. Call time was later than usual, and it sucked that this was the morning I was unable to sleep.

  Scratch, scratch.

  I froze.

  A low ripping sound followed that nasty little sound, and I sat forward, leg sliding down so it lay flat against the bed. My senses on full alert, I strained to hear over the thumping of my heart as I tried to remain calm. Rational.

  How could I?

  Flashes of a beady-eyed rat scraping over once-beautiful flesh battered me. I flinched away, but there was no escape from my own mind. Visions of skin being torn and eaten as it rotted away just feet from me consumed me, replacing the view of my bedroom with my own personal hell.

  “No!” I shouted, smacking my hands onto the bed with a thump.

  The very air inside my apartment seemed to pause. Keeping still, only my gaze drifted toward the bedroom door as I wondered what was out there.

  Who?

  Sweat broke out over my back and forehead, fingers twisting in the sheets. When I glanced down at my leg, fear I hadn’t felt in a long time stabbed me.

  An unfamiliar sound reached my ears, and I knew someone was out there. Scooting to the side of the bed, I grabbed my phone and hit 9-1-1 on the bright screen.

  A low popping sound filled the apartment, followed by the sound of breaking glass.

  Adrenaline surged through me. I welcomed it, allowing it to envelop me. Adrenaline would keep me alive right now. Adrenaline would battle back the debilitating panic sinking its claws into me.

  Grabbing the crutches I kept propped beside my bed, I stood, ignoring the way my knee wobbled. I thought of calling for emergency help, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

  Doing that would get me even more of what I absolutely abhorred. Attention.

  Would you rather have attention or be dead?

  To be completely honest, I wasn’t sure.

  Sometimes being alive was worse than death.

  Stuffing the phone in the pocket of my shorts, I went to the bedroom door, peering around the frame as a man dressed completely in black reached through the hole he’d cut in the window and unlocked the lock.

  Relief poured through me.

  Odd, right?

  You know a girl lived through some fucked-up shit when she glanced into her living room, saw a man breaking in, and it actually calmed her down.

  Hey, it was so much better than what I’d been imagining.

  His body hit the floor beneath the window with a thump. Slipping back into my bedroom, leaning against the wall, I debated what to do.

  Sound from the other room made me curious, and I peeked out again. He was going through the papers on my coffee table and looking around. A camera hung around his neck on a thick red strap, and I watched him lift it and take photos.

  Horrified and grossly invaded, I gasped.

  He looked up. My stomach twisted when I saw the mask he wore. Doubling over, I grabbed the doorframe before forcing myself back up.

  “I called the cops!” I yelled.

  Above the black mask covering the lower portion of his face, his eyes widened. The hat on his head shot up with the lift of his brows.

  “Get out!” I screamed. “Out!”

  Nearly tripping over the coffee table, he rushed for the door. But then he stopped. Glancing back, his eyes narrowed, and he rushed me.

  Unease gripped my throat, making me fall back. One of the crutches clattered to the floor, and I used the other to balance me. He rushed through the bedroom door, plowing into me, knocking me back onto the bed.

  All the air whooshed out of my chest, and my mind went alarmingly blank. I bucked up, shoving him off, and he laughed, the sound muffled by the creepy-looking black medical mask. Reaching up, I grappled for it, trying to reveal his face.

  He yanked back, the force of his shove pushing me down on the bed once more.

  I heard the camera clicking. Scrambling up, I saw him snapping pictures of my prosthesis leaning against the wall and then of the crutches that were abandoned on the floor by the bed.

  I shot up, ignoring the pain in the back of my leg, buckling over but refusing to bow. Hopping forward, I scooped up the crutch and pulled it back like a baseball bat.

  The flash of the camera blinded me momentarily, and with horror, I realized what he’d just done.

  “No!” I wailed. “No!”

  Rage and panic gave me strength, and I swung with the crutch, putting all the force I had into the swing. It connected with his body, knocking him sideways.

  He stumbled, falling onto one knee, and I raised it up, swinging down again. He rolled out of the way, leaping up in a way that made me jealous. Pulling the crutch down, I used it to rush after him as he scrambled through my apartment.

  “Give me the camera!” I roared.

  In response, he turned back and took another photo. I ran into a small table, knocking things to the floor. It was a slap in the face that he went to the door for escape instead of using the window again.

  His laugh taunted me as he stopped to unlock the door and turn the handle. I made it to him, my hand closing around the back of his shirt just as he slipped outside.

  I let out a cry, trying to pull him back into the apartment, reaching for the camera strap, but I was too late. He jerked, and I toppled over, unbalanced, falling onto the floor as he slammed the door in my face and ran away.

  I lay there facedown, dividing my stare between the piece of cut glass beneath the window and the closed apartment door. The sound of the chain lock swaying against the frame taunted me, reminding me of everything I couldn’t do.

  Despite how defeated I felt, I got up, moving to the window. The screen was sliced open, pulled out of the frame and lying outside. I shut and locked the window even though, yes, there was a hole neatly cut into the pane.

  Leaning against the wall, I waited for my heart rate to return to normal and the tears slipping down my cheeks to dry.

  Next, I got the lost crutch and taped the cut glass back onto the window with some duct tape. As I did, I kept seeing the flash of the camera, breath coming in short gasps.

  When I turned from the window, I saw all the things I'd knocked to the floor as I tried to run after the man assaulting me.

  I sank onto the floor and scooted into the corner of the room, leaving the crutches where they fell.

  Pulling my knees up against my chest, I wrapped my arms around them tightly, never once noticing the fact that one of my legs wasn’t there to wrap my arm around.

  I allowed the shakes to overcome me. The panic and the worry.

  I should call the police.

  Really, it would likely be too late.

  That man got what he came here for. I was going to have to brace myself for what came next. All the convincing I’d done to get myself to believe this home was my safe space turned into wasted effort.

  Bowing my head into my lap, I wondered if I would truly feel safe anywhere ever again.


  She turned away.

  I hoped she wouldn’t. The trust I so desperately wanted her to have in me clearly wasn’t there.

  I reconciled that as I stared at her hoodie-covered back, fighting the urge to grab her arm and force her around.

  Even turned away, she bowed her head. Reaching up, she tugged the edges of the hood, trying to conceal herself even more.

  “I hope it’s okay,” she said, her voice shy and unsure.

  I made a face. “What?”

  “I brought this back to give to you at work today, and I forgot. After...” Her voice faltered.

  I struggled to catch up to what she was saying. The rise and fall of her shoulders made me understand.

  My lips rolled in when I pressed them together.

  “This is what I grabbed after...” Her sentence finished softly.

  She was wearing my hoodie. The fabric offering her protection, the fabric she hid behind was mine.

  I didn’t hear whatever she said next because the lion roaring inside me was so loud. The gloomy mistrust I’d felt when I first saw her disappeared, conquered by the roaring beast inside and the fierce possession I felt seeing that shirt enveloping her body.

  She did trust me.

  Eventually, she would turn around, and I would see—

  “Nick?” She called out to me from behind the safety of the fabric.

  “What?”

  “I—” She faltered. “I’ll go take it off.” Bracing her hand on the coffee table for balance, she moved forward. My eyes strayed down to her pink shorts and the one leg stretching out beneath them. The left leg ended at the knee, but it was covered by something.

  Forgetting her leg, I rushed forward, hugging her from behind. Straightening, I pulled her up with me, keeping my arms wound around her, resting my chin on her shoulder.

  I didn’t get mad that her chin angled down and away from me. I hugged her tighter, rubbing my jawline against the hoodie. My hoodie.

  “Don’t,” was all I said.

  “It was by the door in a bag... It was closer than one of mine,” she explained.

  I pulled her closer. “That’s the only reason you put this one on?”

  I thought she wouldn’t answer. But then she did. “No.”

  “Keep it. Wear it when I’m not here and you need a shield.”

  Her hand, which had been wrapped around my forearm, spasmed. I heard her swallow. A light laugh floated from between her lips. “I can’t afford this brand.”

  “The only payment I want is to see it on your body.”

  A shiver moved through her, making my teeth sink into my lip. My eyes closed.

  “You should go,” she told me.

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “I need someone to take care of me.”

  A strangled sound ripped out of her throat. “Yeah, right.”

  “I had a nightmare.”

  Her head tilted toward mine, and satisfaction made my insides purr.

  “Is that why you called me?”

  I made a sound of agreement.

  “How did you get my number anyway?”

  My lips pulled up into a satisfied smirk she wouldn’t be able to see. “I stole it out of Carson’s phone that day.”

  “What was your nightmare about?”

  I whispered, “An angel.”

  “Me?” she whispered back.

  “What happened here tonight?” I asked, seeing the window covered in tape.

  A sigh moved through her body. “I’m going to have to move.”

  “Turn around and let me look at you.”

  “No.” She didn’t pull away with the rebuff. Instead, she settled a little closer against my body.

  “Is it because you think I won’t like what I see or because you don’t?”

  Everything about her quieted. She didn’t speak, move, or breathe. But she stayed in my arms. Lifting her off her foot, I glanced around the dim apartment. Things were scattered on the floor, and it sickened me to know there had likely been a struggle.

  “Where’s the bedroom?” I asked, still holding her up.

  She pointed, and I walked with her through the door. It was darker than in the living room. The curtains were drawn over the windows, the only light from the lamp in the other room.

  I walked us over to the bed, lowering her onto her foot when we were beside the mattress. The room was sweet scented, sort of like candy or some kind of sugar. “I guess you’re a sweet angel, huh?” I murmured.

  She made a sound, asking what I meant, but I didn’t bother to answer.

  “Do you think he’s coming back tonight?” I asked instead.

  “No. He got what he wanted.”

  Cold nipped at my heart. Palming her hips, I squeezed.

  Her hands settled over mine, giving them a reassuring embrace. “He didn’t touch me.”

  “Next time, lead with that.” I warned, veiled hostility in my tone.

  “Next time,” she mused like there would never be.

  “Lie down,” I instructed. I wasn’t even going to bother telling her there would always be a next time with us.

  “You should go.”

  “No.”

  With a sigh, she slipped into the bed, rolling away, keeping her back to me. Sliding in beside her, I spooned against her body, slipping my arm around her waist.

  I felt her reach up to tug the hood closer around her face, but then her hand slid over the one holding her.

  “You can go to sleep, angel.” I promised softly. “I won’t take advantage and look at you while you sleep.”

  She believed me. Not much later, she slept.

  I shouldn’t have been able to sleep. Not after the break-in. After the panic attacks. Not with Nick lying in my bed.

  I slept anyway, drifting off quicker than I had in seven years. When I woke, light from the sun outlined the closed curtains, and I was still in the exact same position I’d been in before I shut my eyes.

  For a girl who didn’t surprise easily, I was amazed.

  I felt rested despite all the restlessness in my life.

  Refreshed despite being drained.

  Nick’s arm was still thrown over me, my body perfectly tucked along his. We were so close I felt the even rise and fall of his chest against my back, heard his soft snore against the pillow.

  Unable to resist the urge, slowly, cautiously, I turned in his embrace. As I shifted, so did he, which made my heart jackknife against my ribcage and my body freeze. Lying there with a pounding heart, I waited to see if he would wake.

  When he remained asleep, I continued on my quest, rolling until my back was no longer turned, until I could peek around the edges of the hood into his sleeping face.

  He was handsome even in sleep.

  Figures.

  Did the guy even have a flaw? It was seriously annoying. I was literally his exact opposite: flawed, chewed up, and broken.

  Why are you here? I asked him silently, studying his relaxed face. He seemed younger when he slept, more innocent, and oddly, the contrast made me understand how discerning he looked when awake.

  Golden strands of his hair fell over his forehead, brushing over his brows. His pinkish lips were parted slightly and pouty enough that I thought about reaching out to stroke their fullness.

  I was used to being alone, used to relying on myself. It was easier that way. Safer. He was making it hard. He was showing me what it could be like to have someone to depend on.

  Instinctively, I tugged the hoodie around me farther, burrowing into the softness to hide.

  Wear it when I’m not here and you need a shield.

  I squeezed my eyes shut when his words drifted through my mind. How could I close myself off when he was wrapped around me this way?

  Recoiling, I scooted away from his body, away from the feelings he was stirring up inside me. Turning my back once more, I sat up gingerly, trying not to wake him. I couldn’t face him yet. I wasn’t re
ady.

  As I sat on the edge of the bed, the pads of my fingers brushed over my cheek, feeling the uneven texture, relearning the scars that would mark me forever.

  Is it because you think I won’t like what I see or because you don’t?

  It was both. It was more.

  Gazing down in my lap, I fingered the edge of the shrinker pulled over my amputated leg. It was probably a good thing I’d gotten some rest last night, because I was going to need it.

  Stealing a quick glance over my shoulder, I made sure Nick was still asleep before making my way around the bed to my crutches. After grabbing some clothes out of the nearby dresser, I shut myself in the bathroom for a shower. With any luck, he would be gone when I was finished, and I would have some space to breathe.

  We talked about a lot last night, but we didn’t talk about a thing. It was strange with Nick, how we jumped from one topic to the other, following each other effortlessly without any kind of delay. We sort of skirted around the big stuff without pretending it wasn’t there. It almost felt like he was biding his time, in no hurry to get to any questions and answers, as if he knew it would all come soon enough.

  “Overconfident ass,” I muttered as shampoo rinsed down the drain. “He stole my phone number from Carson, drove me home one time, and then stored my address away in his memory to show up in the middle of the night.” I continued to grumble about all his shortcomings as I washed.

  He shielded you from the press twice. He drove you home because your hamstring contracted and you couldn’t drive yourself. If he hadn’t shown up here last night, you’d probably still be shivering in the corner.

  Most of all...

  What was this, a pro/con list all about Nick?

  He promised not to look, and he didn’t.

  I made a scoffing sound, scrubbing my arms a little too vigorously. “How do you know? He probably studied every inch while you were sleeping like a fool.”

  He didn’t look, and you know it.

  Grabbing the handgrip on the wall, I let the spray pelt me. I did know. Even though I had no proof, I knew Nick hadn’t looked.

  And that right there was why I was in so much trouble.

  After my shower, I pulled on my clothes and stood staring at the closed door. “Please be gone,” I whispered.