Dark Side of the Cloth by Brooklyn Cross
Yasmine woke with a start, and like a thousand times before, her sister’s name was on her tongue. She gripped the blanket to her chest and quickly tried to remember what was going on as she pushed the memories of her sister’s abduction from her mind.
Images flashed before her eyes, and she shook her head, ordering herself to stop thinking about it. Her heart pounded as she opened her eyes and scanned the room. Dean was sitting in the old wing back chair in the corner, his head in his hands as he rocked back and forth. Jumping from the bed, she ran to him.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” She hugged him hard and was rewarded with him returning the gesture. His strong arms pulled her into his body. “Was it a nightmare?” she asked when he didn’t respond.
Yasmine recognized the look on his face. It mirrored her own from so many nights when she’d woke up and stared in the mirror. He nodded but didn’t make a sound.
“I have nightmares too—well, really only one. It plays on repeat in my mind.”
Dean kissed her bare chest, his warm lips traveling softly over her skin to her nipple, making her gasp as his teeth tugged on the sensitive bud. Pulling his arms away, she stepped back long enough to straddle his lap.
“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”
Dean pulled her closer, and she sighed as she came into contact with his chest. His hazel eyes reflected in the lamplight, reminding her of a large predatory cat.
“What do you dream about?” Dean asked, brushing the hair away from her face.
“I don’t want to talk about it either.” She closed her eyes and listened to the beat of the rhythmic muscle beneath her ear.
“Please just a little. I want to know you, the Yasmine that the world out there doesn’t see.” Dean ran his hands down her back, smoothing out her mass of wild hair.
Yasmine had never shared her dreams with anyone outside of the therapist she’d seen a few times. Coming up with the right words was a lot harder than she imagined.
“I dream about my sister. I have a twin—had a twin.”
She played with the dark hair at the base of his neck, the sensation of it running through her fingers calming.
“She was taken like those little girls were taken. We were older than they were when it happened, but what was done to her… I feel so much guilt all the time.”
She lifted her head to look at Dean as tears welled in her eyes and her bottom lip trembled. Dean kissed the tears running down her cheeks, his hands warm and so tender as they held her.
“Why do you have guilt?” he asked.
“Because I left her. Because I ran out of the room to get help and left her, and she died in the most horrific…”
She stopped again, the autopsy report flashing before her mind, and the words sodomized, vaginal tearing, and broken femur had the tears running fresh once more. Dean lifted her chin to make her look at him.
“You have nothing to feel guilty for. You were a young girl facing a full-grown man.”
“How did you know that?” she asked.
“You said that it was like the young girls who were found, so I just assumed. The point is there is nothing more you could’ve done. Your sister wouldn’t want you blaming yourself.”
“You didn’t see the look in her eyes. She begged me not to leave her.” Yasmine’s voice hitched as she rode out the emotion she kept trying to bury.
“Tell me then, what could you have done differently?”
“I could’ve gotten a weapon. I could’ve kept screaming until someone heard, I…”
“Yasmine, stop this. You had no way of knowing what would happen, and I can poke a thousand holes in each of those possibilities.” He laid a gentle kiss on her nose.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Yasmine sniffled.
Dean stood, and she wrapped her legs around his waist.
“Then maybe we shouldn’t talk at all.”
Yasmine gave him a little smirk.
“I like that idea.” He laid her down, her hair falling around her.
“Do you know how beautiful you are?”
“I’d rather you showed me.” She bit her lip, and his eyes flared.
“I like that idea,” he teased.
His lips captured hers, moving in a synchronized dance like they’d been lovers for years. If there were such thing as wishes coming true, she’d wish that there was some way this could last forever.