Читать книгу Guilt: The Sunday Times best selling psychological thriller that you need to read in 2018 - Amanda Robson, Amanda Robson - Страница 26

I am laced in his arms as he drifts towards sleep. The sweet fingers of sleep are touching me, pulling me towards oblivion. I feel as if I am floating. Floating. Flying. Weightless. All-powerful. Eternal.

But something has happened. Shouting. Someone is shouting. Someone is kicking. Someone is screaming. I wake up. It is Sebastian, still fast asleep. Eyes tightly closed, fighting the bed covers, kicking and twisting them around his legs. Thumping and kicking. He thumps me in the chest and shrieks. I shriek back at him, grab his shoulders, and shake him to wake him up. He opens his eyes and groans. He clings to me tightly like a frightened toddler.

‘I had a nightmare,’ he whispers.

He is shivering. I stroke his back. I stroke his hair. His breathing slows.

‘Calm down, calm down,’ I mutter. ‘What happened?’

‘I dreamt I was in a car.’ His voice tremors. ‘I was driving.’ He pauses. ‘Everything was woolly. Unfocused. The other driver didn’t see us.’

‘Us?’ I pause. ‘Who else was in the car?’

He pulls away from me, sitting upright in bed now. ‘Nobody … I can’t remember.’ His body is no longer shaking. He is breathing steadily now. ‘I must have had too much to drink last night. I have graphic dreams when I drink too much.’