“Your house is absurd.”
He laughed. “I’ll pick you up in a couple hours. Call me if you need anything.”
“Will do.”
Wouldn’t do, actually—now that the last dregs of the dream had been shaken off, I felt really stupid. I was seventeen years old. That was a decade too old to be having nightmares. I was fine. Nothing had happened.
A few minutes later, my eyes were heavy. I leaned my head back and drifted off to sleep.
This time, I did snap awake, to the sound of my alarm going off. My lamp was still glowing softly. No dead nurse moms or crazy-eyed Adrians. Probably safe to get out of bed.
A half hour later, I headed downstairs having showered and dressed. Snow was still falling outside, peacefully.
“So,” Rachel said when she saw me, “which is it today? Are you going to Adrian’s, or is Adrian coming here?”
I reached for a mug. “I’m not sure yet.”
Her lips pursed. “You two spend an awful lot of time together.”
“I hear that’s what couples do.”
“I know,” Rachel said as Norah stumbled tiredly down the stairs. “Just keep in mind that there’s more to life than boys.”
Dual flames of irritation and amusement coursed through my stomach. Part of me wanted to say back off and the other part of me wanted to tease her for being worried. I compromised with “Duly noted.”
“Joe and I just wished we saw more of you. Sometimes you leave for school and then we won’t see you until dinner.”
“We can come here today. After school, I mean.”
Rachel smiled at me. “That’d be nice.”
Twenty minutes later I was brushing my teeth when I heard Norah call out, “Adrian’s here!” She’d taken it upon herself to announce his arrival every morning. Very loudly.
I shrugged into my coat, threw my bag over my shoulder, and headed downstairs. I felt a nervous tug in my stomach as I opened the door. Adrian was sitting in his truck, as usual, but facing away, probably on his phone or adjusting the heater vents. When he looked at me, it was him. Real, non-nightmare him.
“Your heart rate’s up,” he said as I climbed into the truck. It still unnerved me that he could tell that kind of stuff from fifteen feet away.
“I’m sorry,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “I know it’s stupid, but dream-you scared the shit out of me.”
“Are you okay?”
For some reason, the look of concern on his face—the way he was turned to me, like I was a frightened animal—irritated me. A lot.
“I’m fine,” I snapped. Why was I snapping?
He smiled at me a little, but for some reason it came across as patronizing. “How can I make this better?”
“It’s all good,” I said, sitting on my half of the cab rather than snuggling up under his arm like usual. “Just a dream. Not your problem.”
He started the truck frowning, both of us very aware of the physical space between us. “Your problems are my problems.”
“Look,” I said, feeling the old, familiar anger starting to creep back in. “I’m sorry I called you last night. It was just a stupid nightmare; I’ll get over it.”
That definitely came out bitter.
He threw the truck in gear and pulled out of the driveway. “You are my responsibility. If you aren’t well, that lands on me.”
I laughed sharply. “I’m sorry I’m such an inconvenience.”
He gripped the steering wheel. “That’s not what I meant.”
I turned to him and cocked my head to the side. “What did you mean, exactly? Ever since I got here, I’ve been somebody’s responsibility—”
“Yeah,” Adrian interrupted. “The state assigned you to Rachel and Joe, the Council assigned you to me—”
“I am not a fucking five-year-old!”
“No, you’re not,” he agreed. “But when people are willing and able to help, you don’t act like they’re trying to ruin your life.”
“I didn’t ask for your help!” I sputtered, instantly enraged by his condescension. “And I sure as hell didn’t ask for Joe and Rachel’s help, either.”
He shrugged, and it pissed me off even more. “Pretending like you can take on the world on your own isn’t brave, it’s stupid.”
“I didn’t want any of this.” I’d meant to yell that, but it came out as a whisper. My throat was hoarse with a wave of tears there was no way in hell I’d let show in front of Adrian. “I didn’t ask to move here, I didn’t ask to be targeted by your dad. And maybe I do need help, but don’t you dare think for a second that my life or my choices are yours to approve. I don’t need your permission. You are not my boyfriend, and you don’t have any say over what I do or how I feel or how I deal with what I’m going through.”
I sat back in my seat, crossing my arms over my chest as I stared out the window, trying to reel my anger back in. We didn’t say anything the rest of the drive. When we parked at school I slammed my door and walked straight to homeroom.