The first time she wakes up screaming, Frank pretends he doesn’t hear. It’s more for her benefit than his own, he tells himself, but he’s still clawing at the last shreds of hope that he’s not getting attached. He can hear Amy’s muffled sobs even through Madani’s door and clenches and relaxes his fists, fighting every urge to rush to her, gather her in his arms, tell her that he’ll protect her from whatever it is she sees in her dreams.
Because he’s no stranger to nightmares either.
And recently, Amy’s been there with his family in the park. Maria has an arm around her and Lisa is braiding her hair and then the gunshots ring out and they all fall, torn to pieces. Frank wakes up panting, tears tracking down his face and he clenches his jaw so tight he might break a tooth.
Then there’s the incident in the trailer. Frank has her pinned on the floor before he realizes what he’s done and he’s horrified, but tries not to show it. He yells at her, his voice cracking with fear, but she hears it as anger and his heart breaks as she cowers from him. He tells himself it’s for the best, that she shouldn’t trust him, shouldn’t want to make him proud.
He’s not her father, after all. And he knows all too well that every second she spends with him simultaneously moves her further away from and closer to danger.
But then one night, her screams wake him up and this time, she doesn’t stop after a few minutes. Frank is up off the couch, stumbling through the tiny trailer to the room where she sleeps, kicking open the door and scanning the room for a threat. He panics further when he doesn’t see Amy at all.
“Kid? Kid?” His voice is hoarse and he swallows hard. He can tell the sounds she’s making are coming from somewhere below him and he ducks down, peering under the bed and oh God, there she is. She’s curled into an impossibly tiny ball, dust bunnies in her hair, eyes screwed shut and a fist in her mouth, trying to stifle the last of her screams. Frank huffs out a breath and lowers himself onto his knees.
“Hey, kid.” He says, softer.
“I’m sorry.” Amy whimpers, opening her eyes and staring at him. They’re bright with tears and her eyelashes are stuck together in little triangles.
“Hey, shh, shh.” Frank shakes his head. “You got nothin’ to be sorry about.”
“It hurts.” Amy closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.
“What does?” Frank is immediately on alert again, trying to see where she’s injured.
“My heart.” She whispers, and Frank feels the last of his resolve crumble.
“I know.” He says. They’re quiet for a minute. “Do you want to come out?”
“No.” Amy says in a small voice.
“Do you want me to come under there?” Frank asks hesitantly, not sure if this is the right thing to say.
“Yes.” Amy says after a few seconds. Frank nods and she scoots further to the left to make room for him.
He grunts and contorts his large body to fit into the small space, turning on his side so that they’re facing each other. Amy immediately reaches out and grabs a fistful of his t-shirt and it’s clear she’s hanging on for dear life.
“Shh, shhh, shh, come here.” Frank whispers, his voice catching as he slowly reaches out and runs a thumb under her eye, catching the tears that are gathered there. Amy takes a deep breath and relaxes into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed. Frank marvels at how long her eyelashes are and with a pang of sadness, remembers looking at Lisa when she was born and thinking the same thing.
They lie there, Amy clutching his shirt, his big hand cradling the side of her face and she matches his breathing to his, so that when Frank finally falls asleep, he can’t tell where her inhales start and his exhales end.