He squeezes my hand and goes over to the rocker in the corner of the room. “If you decide you want the light on, it won’t bother me.”
I watch him for a moment as he tries to get comfortable in the small chair. I don’t want him over there. I want him here.
“Everything I said about the couch downstairs goes double for that rocker.” I slide against the wall. “I can’t promise I won’t bite or kick if the dream comes back. But if you’re willing to take a risk, there’s room here for two.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I’m lying in a forest. Tiny dots of greenish-yellow light dance on my skin. The scent of pine surrounds me like a warm blanket. It’s safe here. A bird caws in the distance and my mind follows it, but I tug it back. I want to stay where it’s warm. Safe. Don’t want to wake . . . up . . .
Aaron’s arm is under me. His skin is warm against my neck, and one jean-clad leg is flung over mine. My fingers are again tangled in his T-shirt. I’m not sure when that happened.
I close my eyes and try to recapture the feeling I had when I first woke up. Safe. Warm. But it dances away like the light coming through the trees.
The other dream came twice more. Each time I woke up well before Molly died. That’s both good and bad. On the bad side, it means the dreams will stick around longer. I’ll have to process the entire thing before they end. On the good side, however, this is one exit scene that I clearly need to take in small doses.
It was easier to pull myself out of the memory and back into this world with Aaron next to me. I was pretty sure that would be the case. Arlene Bennett, the soccer mom who overdosed, exited during one of the times that Deo and I were on the streets together. Deo would shake me and remind me to breathe, that I wasn’t choking on anything. And he’d hold my hand until I could finally relax enough to believe that I wasn’t going to die in my sleep if I nodded off again.
Waking up thinking you’re drowning in your own vomit is miserable, but I’d take it a thousand times over the Molly dreams.
There’s a long scratch on Aaron’s neck. I don’t remember doing that, but it’s a close match for the scratches on my left arm. My nails are bitten almost to the quick. I’m very glad for that bad habit right now, otherwise the damage could’ve been much worse.
I don’t see a clock in the room, and my phone is still in Aaron’s pocket, but it’s well past sunrise. And it looks like the sun is actually making an appearance today, unlike yesterday, when it never managed to break through the clouds.
Part of me wants to snuggle closer to Aaron, even though I doubt I can actually fall back asleep. It would be so nice to lie here for a bit longer and try to avoid worrying about Deo and this entire colossal mess. But the rational side of my brain that didn’t fully kick into gear last night is working just fine now, and it’s asking whether this desire to be close to Aaron is really coming from me. Or is it a remnant of Molly’s feelings for him?
She’s gone, so in one sense, it doesn’t really matter. It’s not like she’d come back and haunt me for taking her guy. In fact, I know I’d have her blessing.
But there’s way too much going on right now to trust my emotions. More importantly, I don’t want to mislead Aaron. And I don’t want to misinterpret him. He was right last night when he told Taylor that it kind of was Molly screaming. Even if you can’t really separate the two of us any longer, did he stay to comfort me or to comfort Molly?
I reluctantly pull my leg out from under Aaron’s. He stirs long enough to roll over and sink his face into my pillow. My phone is wedged beneath him, and as much as I want it, I can’t bring myself to wake him up to get it. I settle for leaving the door open. If it rings, I’ll hear it.
I’m surprised to see that it’s nearly eleven a.m. I grab a slice of cold pizza—one of only four that remain—and am just finishing my breakfast of champions when Taylor comes downstairs. She’s still in the Team Volturi tee, over the black jeans she was wearing last night.
She grabs one of the other slices and leans against the counter. Her eyes flick to the scratches on my arm. “Did you get any sleep?”
“Some. It’s always rough when my hitchers move on, but this one . . .” I shake my head, not really wanting to discuss the dreams. “It will pass eventually.”
We’re both silent for a moment, then she says, “Don’t hurt him.”
And I’m wishing that I’d closed the bedroom door. “It’s not like that.”
She takes another bite of the pizza and shrugs. “Maybe not for you. But I know my brother.”