I managed not to make any sound as I laid there in the dark, but I was powerless to how much I was shaking. This was why I didn’t want to spend the night alone, but equally why I was grateful that my only company was asleep.
And as I lay there, not feeling quite as uncomfortable or as unsafe as I once might have thought I would, I just really, really missed him. I missed Tomas so much that it ached. I curled in upon myself and made failed attempts to regulate my breathing. And I ached—I ached for the time we’d had, and for how much time had been stolen from us. I thought of the man—my guardian angel of a man—and how, after all the times I’d shown others my love, he’d been the first, the only, to give it back.
I didn’t know if I’d awoken him, or if my trembling caused a reaction in his sleeping body, but at that point Fyodor shifted. He rolled and I felt his arm drape itself over my middle.
I’d be lying if I said it didn’t help.