Chapter XXVII: Nightmares

Rosalie found herself gagged and bound to a chair. Her dress torn and ripped as the ropes dug into her skin, bound her to the wooden structure. The room she was held in smelt like mold and the air was stale like the fresh air hadn't been inside for years. The interior was dark and dingy with a single light overhead.
She felt dazed and confused as she lifted her head up, a trickle of blood streaming down from her temple and onto her dress as she felt a hammer against her skull. A wince shot through her as she moved her head, a sharp pain shooting through her as her vision cleared.
Taking in her surroundings, instant panic welled inside her as fear engulfed her.
With a whimper, she struggled against her restraints, tears of fear and angst flowing down her dirty cheeks, mixing with the grime and blood. Her sobs grew louder and more desperate as she tried to get out of her bounds, a muffled plea escaping through the gag as the tears flowed in a steadier stream.
"You can't escape, sweetheart." A voice crackled from the darkness, the suddenness having Rosalie shriek in fright.
The sound of shoes clicking drew closer to her as her sobs grew louder, her heart hammering against her chest and her throat choking up.
Suddenly a pair of black dress shoes with a white line appeared in the ring of light, the body hidden in darkness.
"Shut up." The voice spoke over her sobbing as she instantly stopped, the tears still flowing as she suppressed any sound in fear of what he could do to her. "That's more like it."
A silence washed over the room as Rosalie could hear her blood surging through her veins, her heart thundering against her ribcage with her mind praying for a miracle. Suddenly, a hand shot out from the darkness, a shriek escaping her as she recoiled her head back, afraid of being hit. Instead, he simply ran the back of his hand down her grimy cheek, humming to himself.
"My, what a pretty little face you have." The man spoke, his voice thick with lust as Rosalie's stomach twisted in discomfort, causing her to squirm in her seat. "Wouldn't it be a shame if something were to mar that beauty of yours?" He continued through gritted teeth as a knife suddenly entered her line of vision, a blood-curdling scream tearing through her as he drew it nearer to her face, piercing her skin and drawing blood.
"Rosalie!" A voice yelled over her screaming, shattering the haze of searing pain in her system. "Rosalie! Rosalie! Wake up!"
She felt herself being shaken violently as her eyes snapped open, her throat raw from all her screaming and her cheeks damp with her tears. Her eyes darted around rapidly, taking in her lighted surroundings and placing everything to be Arcangelo's bedroom.
"Rosalie." A voice spoke from above her, her eyes instantly darting to the source and seeing Arcangelo's worried face hovering over her, his forehead creased and beaded with sweat and his eyes heavy with concern as he repeatedly stroked her matted hair. "It was just a dream, princess, you're alright."
She opened her mouth to say something, but before she could even get a sound across, a painful churning in her stomach had her lurch forward and throw up onto the wooden floor at her bedside. Instantly, Arcangelo was pulling her hair away from her face, rubbing her back as he had an arm wrapped around her front, keeping her upright as she grasped his forearm for support.
"It's alright, let it out." Arcangelo murmured into her ear, rubbing her back as he placed a kiss against her temple, not even angry that she was throwing up on his wooden floor.
"Major!" He yelled over his shoulders and instantly the doors flew open with Gun and Major stepping in, weapons drawn before looking at the scene in concern. "Have someone clean this up."
"Yes, sir," Major nodded as both the guards stepped out the door.
Rosalie stopped throwing up, dry heaving at the edge of the bed as Arcangelo rubbed her back, holding her against him as her throat burned, tears streaming down her face with a rancid taste infiltrating her mouth. Coughing and blubbering, Arcangelo spoke comforting words into her ear as he took her into his arms, allowing her to sob into his shirt as he walked them to his ensuite bath.
She blubbered incoherently as Arcangelo settled her onto the counter, telling her everything will be alright as he ran a bath for her; checking the temperature, he allowing the tub to fill up. As the water flowed in, he helped Rosalie clean her face before he placed a kiss on her forehead, feeling overwhelming concern for her.
Once the tub filled, he helped her get out of her clothes as she hiccupped silently, her hair disheveled and matted against her forehead as she got submerged into the water, pulling her knees up to her chest as she watched Arcangelo take off his shirt, cleaning himself with a wet towel before discarding both things.
With a heavy sigh, he braced the counter, staring down at the sink before running a hand through his hair.
Since the Saturday when they found her apartment ransacked, he brought her to stay with him. She had been living with him for over two weeks now, and not one time did she have a decent night's sleep. It would take Arcangelo hours to convince her to sleep, and when she would finally agree, she would always wake up screaming. Rosalie refused to sleep again, afraid of the nightmares.
And on top of that, she hardly ate.
Arcangelo was forced to divide his attention between his work and her, and things always got worse with her during the night.
She didn't talk to him about it; she couldn't bring herself to relive all the nightmares. Even now, as she sat submerged in the water with Arcangelo sitting on the edge of the tub, he waited for her to tell him the dream, but when she didn't respond he knew he has to be very patient and soft with her.
The trauma was worse than they had initially anticipated and Rosalie refused to leave the room. Worse still, she would get extra paranoid when Arcangelo wasn't with her. He was her safe haven, and he wasn't going to stop a few obnoxious Mafia bosses from making her feel protected. Arcangelo had refused to meet with anyone, at all, and had all of his work brought to him in his bedroom. There, he would stake out with Rosalie, keep an eye on her as well as finish his work.
As he sat on the edge of the tub, he watched Rosalie hold her breath before completely submerging in the water. After a few moments, her head broke the surface, her hair dripping as she sought to catch her breath. As she stood up, Arcangelo grabbed a towel from the wrack, wrapping it around her before going to get her something to wear while she dried up. He helped her into the two-piece silk baby doll pajama set as she dried her hair.
"How do you feel?" Arcangelo asked her gently as he drained the tub, seeing how Rosalie's movements faltered before she cleared her throat.
"I've had better nights." She admitted.
"I know, baby." He sighed as he hugged her from behind, placing a kiss on her temple as he saw the sad expression on her features. "I know."
Turning around, she hugged Arcangelo, feeling his bare skin against her palm as she rested her ear against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat in a way to calm herself. He closed his eyes as he felt her fingers trail across his back. Gripping her waist, he buried his face into her neck, inhaling the addictive fragrance of her skin, suddenly feeling very tempted to bite.
His hands slid from her waist to her back, a soft moan escaping her at the sensation oozing through her as she nuzzled closer to him.
Wanting him.
Needing him.
Rosalie placed a kiss on the crook of his neck, before trailing higher, Arcangelo's heartbeat speeding up at her ministrations. Grabbing her hips, he squeezed lightly, trying to tell her to stop as her kisses trailed behind his ear, a soft groan escaping him as she nibbled on his earlobe.
"Rosalie, princess," He breathed heavily. "You need to stop doing this."
"Do what?" She murmured quietly as she trailed her lips to his jaw.
"Have a nightmare and then try and find solace in sex."
Almost instantly, all her movements halted.
Arcangelo knew what she was doing, and deep down, she knew too, but this was the first time either one of them voiced it aloud.
She pulled away from him, her eyes conveying the hurt she felt as she stared at him. Taking a step back she created some distance between them and crossed her arms in a defensive gesture. Rosalie stared at him for a moment, before looking away. She opened her mouth to say something before closing it as nothing came out. Swallowing twice, she tried again.
"Is that what you think I'm doing?" She inquired as hurt seeped through her voice, causing Arcangelo to wince before he rubbed a hand over his face.
"Rosalie, you - just as well as I - know this is exactly what you're doing."
A humorless chuckle escaped her as she looked away from him, shaking her head in disbelief.
"Unbelievable." She muttered under her breath before stalking out the washroom. A groan escaped Arcangelo before he grabbed a shirt, and pulled it on.
"Rosalie, for God's sake," He called after her, following behind as he watched her act busy with her phone, but he knew that nothing was happening at 3:45 in the morning. "Talk to me!"
"How can you think so lowly of me?" She shrieked, whirling around in anger. "Never once have I brought forth all the things that you have committed! Never once did I think lowly of you!"
"I do not think lowly of you!" Arcangelo exclaimed, flabbergasted at her words.
"Oh, please. You practically called me a whore."
Arcangelo mouth fell open in disbelief as he stumbled back, clearly never having expected something like that to come out of her mouth. A scoff escaped him as he shook his head, staring at her angry stance before a humorless chuckle escaped him. Swallowing thickly, he grabbed his phone and keys off the table as Rosalie's stance suddenly became nervous rather than angry, her gaze following him as he walked towards the door.
"Arcangelo?" She called out to him uncertainly as he halted in the doorway.
"I understand that you feel traumatized, and you have every right to feel so. But using me as your sex toy to try and forget everything rather than facing it is just plain wrong because that is not how you deal with trauma." He spoke monotonously, not even being able to bring himself to turn around and face her. "I am not upset that you are using me. No, do whatever you want to me. But I am hurt by what you are doing to yourself."
"Regression is not the answer." He stated quietly. "It never is. And you've seen it."
With that he walked out of the room, closing the door behind him and telling Major and Gun to stay with her.
Stepping into the warm July night, the rockery crunched under his shoes as he walked over to his Lamborghini, feeling the need to go on a drive and a fast one at that.
Arcangelo found himself going the fastest his car could go. His blood rushing through his veins as the adrenaline coursed through him. His phone kept on ringing on the center console, and to drown out the noise, he turned up the music to full, deafening himself. The empty stretch of road only got to taste the Lamborghini's tires for no more than a second and Arcangelo could have sworn he was flying.
The wind whistled past the car, the engine roaring into the night as he kept on pushing down at the accelerator, feeling the need to go faster and faster with each successive minute.
His heart hammered in his chest, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple as his breathing was coming out in short ragged pants. The excitement of going this fast having him high.
A laugh burst through him as he changed gear, going way past the two hundred marks as the engine's roar was absolutely glorious. He loved the fact that this car went up to 350 km/h and no one is to say he can't go to that speed.
Luckily no one was on the highway as he went to the full speed for the first time. Heat traveling throughout his body as his heartbeat in overdrive, his knuckles turning white with the grip he had on the steering wheel and he knew that adrenaline was shooting through his veins like heroin.
And God, did he feel good.
Pure unadulterated ecstasy coursing through him as he felt high on adrenaline, a grin resting on his face and sweat rolling down.
However, he had to stop at some point and he found himself pulling into the porch before sunrise. Stepping out of the car, he patted the hood before making his way inside. The entire estate was still silent but it was only a matter of a few hours before everything came to life.
Making his way up the stairs, he gave a nod to the guards standing in the hallway before entering the bedroom. Rosalie instantly shot up in her place on the bed at the sound of the door opening. Silently she watched him kick off his shoes before he collapsed onto the bed, his face turned away from her as she pulled up her knees to her chest. With a heavy breath, Arcangelo pulled out the duvet from beneath him before wrapping himself up in the warmth.
He knew he wasn't going to sleep, but it didn't mean he couldn't try.
With that thought, he closed his eyes momentarily before they shot open as he heard the sniffle behind him. His heart clenched at the sound as he turned to be on his back, seeing Rosalie's gaze turned away from him as she was biting down on her lip to keep from making excessive sounds. Holding his hand before her, he watched her give a startled jump before uncertainly placing her hand into his open palm.
Arcangelo pulled her to him, covering her with the duvet as he hugged her close, pressing her against his chest as she sniffled silently, and wrapping her arms around his waist as she lay in his embrace.
"It's hard." She sniffled before wiping away the tears.
"I know, baby." He told her as he caressed her arm with his fingertips, placing a kiss on the top of her head. "But it gets easier with time, and slowly, it all goes away."
"You have to talk about it sooner or later." He continued with a sigh. "Trauma changes us."
"This is the big scary truth about trauma: there is no such thing as 'getting over it'. The five stages of grief model mark universal stages in learning to accept a loss, but the reality, in fact, is much bigger: a major life disruption leaves a new normal in its wake. There is no "back to the old me". You are different now, full stop.
However, this is not a wholly negative thing. Healing from trauma can also mean finding new strengths and joys. The goal of healing is not a papering-over of changes in an effort to preserve and present things as normal.
It is to acknowledge and wear your new life - scars, wisdom, and all - with courage."
"And that is recovery."