She stood, watching him suffer, torn as to what action she should take next. She knew that there were conflicting theories when it came to whether or not you should wake someone who was having a nightmare. She briefly battled within herself, trying to decide which way was right, trying to remember what each study had said, trying to come to a decision about what the most medically responsible decision would be in this instance.
Then Riley cried out once more, the sound of his anguish filling the air, and Chelle decided she didn’t care what the studies said. She could not sit idly by while he was being tortured - even if he wasn’t consciously aware of what was going on.
She knelt beside the couch. “Riley,” she said softly, attempting to sound as calming as possible.
It didn’t have any effect, though, and he continued his thrashing.
“Riley,” she said in a louder, stronger tone.
Still no response. His night terror seemed to be getting worse. His movements were more erratic and his face contorted even more painfully.
She felt a tear fall from her eye. She hated seeing him this way. She felt as if her heart were being torn in two. Before she realized what she was doing, she reached out and touched his chest. When she again uttered his name, the tortured quality of her voice matched that of his own cries.
Suddenly, his hand clamped down over hers, grabbing it tightly and holding it against his warm skin. His eyes flew open, looking beyond her with a wild, frenetic gaze. The pressure he exerted in squeezing her hand to himself nearly crossed the threshold into pain.
“Riley,” she said urgently, “It’s me. It’s Chelle. Wake up.”
Chelle could feel his heart pounding furiously beneath her palm. Her heart ached for him. The powerful need she felt to help him was matched only by her overwhelming sense of powerlessness to do so.
She didn't know what to do. Ideas for various courses of action ping-ponged around inside her brain until she felt that her mind was swimming with conflicting courses of action and all that she could do was tread water. She felt that she must do something, but by the same token, she definitely did not want to make the situation worse!
She just wanted him to know she was here if he needed her. The desire to take away any pain or fear he felt flooded her entire body.
Instinctively she moved onto the couch. She laid down beside him, her body pressed tightly against his, her head resting against his chest.
The instant she laid her head on his chest, his body began to relax. He slumped back down, his back lying flat against the pillows, his breath shallow and rapid. She stayed, lying beside him, stroking his hair gently.
After a few moments his arm wrapped possessively around her, his hand landing on her hip. She froze, waiting for him to say something, to address what was happening. When he didn’t speak, she carefully peaked up at him, trying as best she could not to move anything except her eyes.
She couldn’t see much from her awkward position, but she could tell that Riley’s eyes were closed. His mouth was slightly open and she had to stop herself from reaching up and pressing her lips to his. The kiss they had shared down on the wharf had only made her want more.
Immediately she admonished herself for having those thoughts. The very last thing Riley needed was to have her drooling all over him.
She just needed to be his friend. Too bad it couldn’t be friends with benefits, she thought.
As she laid still, trying to calm down enough to go to sleep, she was consumed by the feeling of rightness that being held in Riley’s arms inspired in her. She felt like a puzzle piece that had finally been fitted down into place with its perfect match with a satisfying snap.
She had never before spent the night in a man’s arms. Obviously, she had slept beside David, but beside was the operative word there. David liked his space. He had been very clear on setting boundaries. The perimeters of her side of the bed and his were very clearly drawn. He had always claimed that he felt claustrophobic if she even accidentally rolled onto his side in her sleep.
Chelle remembered, even as a little girl, watching movies where a man and woman would fall asleep or wake up in each other’s arms. She had always thought it looked so romantic. It had looked like it felt so cozy, so warm, so loving, so comfortable, so…safe.
She allowed herself to imagine, just for a moment, what it would be like if this was her reality. If she and Riley were together and she could fall asleep in his arms each night.
She felt the air leave her lungs in a rush. No. She couldn't even allow her mind to entertain that fantasy. It was too much even to wish for, and she was a realist. She knew that was never going to happen.
Riley could wake up any minute and she would be headed back to her own room, like a naughty kid sent to bed without supper. It was fine to enjoy the physical contact with Riley while it lasted, but starting to fantasize about it possibly continuing was a dangerous and STUPID road to go down. She wouldn't allow it.