- RAYA -
I wake up panting with a nurse who isn’t Christie hovering over , checking the machines while the beep of my heart is going off much too quickly.
Oh my god, it happened again. It happened again, and now I’m hooked up to a machine so everyone can clearly hear and see how my body reacts to the dream version of Dex Mobius.
"Are you okay?" She asks. "I was down the hall and heard the alert that your heart rate had spiked."
"I’m fine," I tell her, gulping in breath and sitting up in bed much too quickly. I groan at the pain this causes and hold my side.
"Careful." She touches my shoulder. "Was it a nightmare?"
"Yes. It was. It was a horrible nightmare." I nod much too eagerly. At least I’m a better liar than my father. "It was about the accident," I add. Okay, maybe I should stop there. Rule one of lying: give as few details as possible.
She makes a reassuring noise and pats my shoulder while she continues looking at the monitors, reading my physiological response to a sex dream. Fantastic.
"Do you need another dose of pain ds?" She glances back at while I’m grimacing and still holding my side.
"No. No, I’m fine."
When my heart rate finally slows down to a less concerning number, the nurse pulls up the quilt to cover from where I had kicked it almost clearly off. And then she retrieves Huggie from the floor and hands it to with a grin.
"Thank you."
"Let us know if you need anything." She pats my leg and walks out.
Yes. I need a lobotomy.
Why are these dreams still happening even when I’m in the hospital?! I got one night off, but they’re back again. And I don’t even have my journal to write them down so that they won’t continue to play on a loop in my mind.
Now is actually my chance. I’m in a hospital. I could ask one of the nurses or even the doctor about this strange phenonon. But they’re not specialists in psychology or sleep disorders, so I doubt they would know, and I’m terrified to get the kind of look Rory gave when I told her.
No, I need a psychiatrist. And that kind of help is going to have to wait until I’m rich after I sue the asshole who hit .
Maybe I can bla these ntal disturbances on the accident. I grab my phone and text Rory.
’Had another dream :(’
My phone lights imdiately in reply, and I glance at the ti. I guess it’s about 8 am there.
’Of course you did. He’s sleeping with your cat, and soon you’re going to be in his guest house.’
’Did you tell Westin about this?’ I bite my lip, wondering if that’s sothing she would share with her partner. I didn’t specifically ask her not to.
’No. I wouldn’t do that to you.’
Thank god. Maybe she doesn’t want him to think she has a crazy sister.
’What am I going to do, Rory?’ I type back, feeling a sudden despair wash back over .
This is a losing situation. I can’t be with Dex, because that would threaten his job and make Lawson victorious. And I really don’t want Lawson to win. But if I don’t go back to work, how am I ever going to get out of his guest house? I can’t stay there for long.
’It sounds like you just need to sleep with the guy in real life, Raya.’
’Wow, easy peasy.’
’Well, you’ll have plenty of opportunities now, I’m sure. If the dreams stop, maybe it will be worth it.’
’K, thanks. Have fun today.’ I reply, hoping the simple ’K’ without the whole word conveys how annoyed I am. That’s not the advice I wanted. I groan and set my phone on the side table.
And then I decide to look for my bag. There is a notebook in there, and while it’s obviously not ant to be used for these dreams, I don’t have many other options. They don’t keep office supplies in hospital rooms.
After finding my bag and retrieving the notebook, I stare at the cover, imdiately taken back to the mont of the accident. That mory and the dream that is still playing in my mind layer together, creating an overlapping reel of despair and ecstasy. I feel so utterly helpless in the face of both.
I brace myself and open the cover, turning to the page with the final note I made.
"This was so stupid," I growl to myself. "I should have been paying attention. Why wasn’t I paying attention?"
Angry tears gather, and I rip the pages out, tearing them into pieces and throwing them on the floor. It’s sothing I imdiately regret, because that ans I’m going to have to bend down and pick up every one of them. But instead of doing that now, I start scribbling furiously on the clean pages that remain.
’We were in a house this ti instead of an apartnt. It was storming. We were both soaking wet...’
I groan and stop, because I’m not writing this correctly. I’m too angry, and it’s not going to work if I can’t capture the essence of the dream. Right now I’m reporting facts.
My thoughts trail back to how it felt to be sandwiched between Dex and the counter. How his breath felt against my skin. How he spoke... so much! We’ve never talked that much before, and he’s never asked about things in reality. We’ve also never t in the kitchen in a storm or tried that position.
I clutch the pen and start over from the beginning of the dream. The flourish of ink and taphor try to catch these monts that feel so real in my mind so that I can offer them to the paper and release them from my thoughts. This has beco my inescapable ritual.
When I’m done, I close the book and stare at it again, releasing a breath when I feel the pressure of the dream leave. Then I get up and put it back in my bag so that I don’t accidentally fall asleep with it in my lap.
Before returning to bed, I pause next to the flowers that he sent. The small card says they are from the office, but Lawson brought a card. These are definitely from Dex.
"Why is this happening, Nana?" I whisper and fidget with the locket that’s back around my neck. "I can’t fall for him, but look at this."
They sll so good, too. I pull a sweet pea stem out of the arrangent and take it back to bed with , laying it on my pillow so I can try to fall back asleep with that beautiful, calming scent nearby. Hopefully it doesn’t just bring more dreams of Dex. I could do without the hospital monitors alerting anyone else about what he does to my heart.
Reviews
All reviews (0)