I tried to concentrate, I did, but it was hard when the slightest touch of his hand sent shock waves across my nerves. I blinked again, fighting the haziness in my mind. “What did I say, exactly?”
He traced the pattern down my waist and across my stomach. “That I should come over because you had a surprise for me.”
His fingers had gone all the way down to my hip. I was rapidly losing my train of thought. “How come I can’t remember any of that?”
His hand froze.
I looked straight at the ceiling, feeling a cold, slimy fear percolate in my stomach, waking me up. “And how did you get in?”
He sat up stiffly and I peeked at him. His eyes continued to burn silver in the darkness. “One way or another, Caitlin,” he said in the voice of my dead mother. “I will return.” I watched in horrified fascination as his two canine teeth descended into curved, snakelike fangs. “Give me what I want,” it hissed—whatever it was, it wasn’t Adrian anymore, or my mother, but something else entirely.
But I whispered, “No.”
He glared at me and then, without warning, snapped forward, fangs flashing in the firelight. I flung my arms up to protect my face. I expected the attack to continue until I was in excruciating pain, until I was dead or defenseless.
But it didn’t come.
Slowly, I opened my eyes and peeked toward Adrian.
But he was gone.
I let my arms drop to the bed. He was gone, and I was alone, pajamas twisted, the blankets everywhere. The only light came from the barely glowing embers in the fireplace. I let out the breath I’d been unconsciously holding and slumped forward, drawing up my knees, hugging my arms around myself.
The nightmare was over.
*
Adrian put the truck in gear and started down the driveway, motioning for me to use his shoulder as a pillow, like I had the day before. I shook my head violently.
“Caitlin,” he said slowly, “what’s wrong?”
I stared straight out the front window. “Nothing’s wrong.”
He reached a hand toward me and I jerked away.
He grimaced, but didn’t touch me. “There was another one, wasn’t there?” When I didn’t answer, he ran a hand through his hair in an agitated gesture. “Was it like the first time?”
I shook my head, but didn’t look at him.
“Okay. But—I was in the dream?”
My eyes watered. I nodded.
He looked at me closely. “Did I hurt you?”
My lips trembled and I covered my mouth with my hand and shook my head.
I could feel him tense, and I wasn’t sure if it was because I was once again on the verge of tears or because he sensed that I was somehow evading his question.
“What did I do?”
I leaned against the door and covered my eyes with my hand, trying to hide the few tears that had managed to leak out. My throat felt thick and froggy and I mumbled, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on.”
“Please, just let it go,” I whispered.
“What could I have possibly done that made you this upset?”
I huddled in my corner of the seat and drew a knee up, letting my tears soak into the fabric of my jeans. I was trying my best to be silent; my stomach actually hurt from trying not to make any noise.
The truck slowed and stopped. I was not ready to go to school. I didn’t want to be around people. I opened my eyes in narrow slits and saw that we were not in the school parking lot. In fact, it looked like we were just pulled off to the side of the road.
Adrian put the truck in park and leaned back.
I didn’t want to be at school, but I didn’t really want to be alone with him, either.
“Caitlin,” he said after a few moments. “I don’t know exactly what happened in your dream. Nightmare,” he corrected himself. “But I’m not going to apologize—because it wasn’t me. I’m not trying to be mean. I just want you to understand that whatever happened to you last night wasn’t real.”
I knew it wasn’t real. It hadn’t actually happened, none of it had, not in any of the dreams. But in a sense, it had. Because I remembered it. I felt it. I lived through it as much as I was sitting here, living through this. But I couldn’t explain that to him.
I heard the creak of the leather seat as he moved, and I tensed. When he spoke, his voice sounded nearer, but not threateningly close.
“Please look at me.”
It was a request, not a command. I pulled my sleeves over my thumbs and scrubbed my eyes again, glad I wasn’t wearing mascara, and then slowly turned toward him.
“Adrian—it wasn’t worse than the others because I thought it was real. It was worse because I woke up and knew that it wasn’t.”
He looked at me sadly. “I don’t understand.”
I stared at a scratch on the seat instead of meeting his gaze. “I know.”
He didn’t answer, just took my hand in his. I wavered, and then let my forehead fall against his shoulder. He carefully put his arm around me. I breathed in the scent of his jacket.
“This has got to stop,” he murmured into my hair.
I continued to breathe in his smell; familiar and grounding. He hadn’t smelled like this in the dream.