Book 6: The Apartment

Tatiana

I wake before the sun rises, my body still tense from a night of restless sleep. I’d tossed and turned for hours, unable to shake the vivid flashes of the ambush from my mind. Twice, I jolted awake, breathless, and each time Angelo pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly until I drifted off again.

It’s frustrating—infuriating, really—to realize how fragile I still am when it comes to facing my trauma. Last night, all I wanted was to toughen up, to stop being so affected by memories I can’t change. But how can I do that when the slightest trigger robs me of sleep and floods me with nightmares?

Angelo tells me I’m being too hard on myself, but I can’t pretend it doesn’t eat at me. I was not raised to be weak.

When I finally drag myself out of bed and into the shower, he’s still asleep, probably exhausted from being woken up repeatedly. I let the warm water run over me, careful not to soak my bandage. For a few quiet minutes, I let m