- DEX -
After stopping to get so bagels and fruit and coffee, I’m sitting in the hospital parking lot again. But this ti, there’s a bundle of nerves in my stomach, and I’m not sure how to get rid of them.
This isn’t sothing that happens to often. I try to avoid attachnt at pretty much all costs, so developing this kind of... crush? Yeah, it’s definitely not . The last woman I dated lives across the globe, and since we were both always busy, we only saw each other on special occasions. And that was enough.
"I have a reason to be here. I’m eting Will for the key," I say to myself, gripping the steering wheel until the last minute when I decide to finally get out.
The woman at the desk waves at , recognizing from before, so I continue on back to Raya’s room. I knock softly, but just like the first ti that I was here, she doesn’t answer. It’s once again like the dream I had when I’m slowly opening the door and seeing her sleeping in bed.
For so reason, the nerves actually ease when I see her. Because she’s not just so insanely sexy woman who has begun to star in my dreams. She’s Raya, and she’s real.
I set the coffees and bag of food on the table, looking out the window at the trees planted around the hospital and wondering how many more visitors to rooms in this very building are doing the sa thing—how many more stories there are taking place other than this one.
I spent a lot of ti next to my mother’s hospital bed. A lot of ti agonizing over the fact that I couldn’t control what happened to one of the people I loved most. I couldn’t make her better. Father and I could have all the money in the world, and it wouldn’t have made a bit of difference. She died anyway.
So when I turn and my eyes fall on Raya peacefully asleep with those stitches in her hair and scrapes on her hands and arms and face, there is a protective surge of emotion that swells like it’s going to steal my breath—like it’s preparing to fight to keep her safe. I understand the reaction, because I have lost soone before. But what I don’t understand is... why her? What is it about this particular girl when I only just t her?
Usually I keep everyone at arm’s length so I won’t have to suffer the pain of losing them. Usually I am good about helping people who need it and then going on my way. Usually I don’t dream about them.
There is a flower on the pillow next to her—one from the bouquet that was delivered yesterday. When I see it, the thoughts and questions that are tornting slowly slip away, evaporating with the morning light.
Rather than wake her, I lay back on the very short, very narrow pullout sofa and decide that just being in this room is a kind of comfort of its own. Raya is here... safe and sleeping and real. And with one arm curled behind my head watching the leaves of the trees flutter out the window, I’m actually able to breathe a full sigh of relief for the first ti in... awhile. Because my heart feels strangely anchored when it’s usually restless and eager to leave—to find the next place, to move on. Right now, it’s at ease.
It doesn’t matter that I don’t understand why I’m drawn to Raya or why being here with her is comforting when I barely know her. ’Why’ requires logic. ’Why’ requires knowing how all the mysterious forces of the world interact and intersect. Sotis it’s best to abandon the ’why’ and trust your gut.
That doesn’t an I’m going to stop questioning what it is about her that’s captured my heart like this, because it’s fucking crazy and it doesn’t make sense. But I’m going to at least allow myself to appreciate the calm of her presence and how it just feels... right.
—————
- RAYA -
I wake up to the sll of coffee—good coffee. Finally I was able to sleep, and I didn’t dream this ti. I didn’t wake up in a frenzy with a worried nurse hovering over , checking my vitals. But that relief is short-lived when I push myself up and see what looks like Dex sleeping on the sofa in my room.
Oh my god. Am I dreaming again? Why... why would he be here?
Squinting at the rest of the room suspiciously, wondering if this is indeed real, I throw back the quilt, my feet hitting the cold floor, and pad around the bed with the wires and lines following . This has to be real, because I don’t think my mind would be cruel enough to include this stupid machinery if this were another sex dream. I might be wrong.
Dex is wearing another holey shirt. I almost laugh but place a hand over my mouth instead. This one is short sleeved and grey, and the arm that is curled behind his head as a pillow is tan and muscular. Just the sight of it causes a small flutter in my belly, because I know what it feels like to be held by those arms—or at least I think I do.
With that body, Dex could seriously look good in anything. It doesn’t matter. And he looks really good—really, really good—sleeping even though he is way too long for the sofa.
One of his legs is draped over the other arm rest and one is hanging off the side. But sohow he still looks peaceful. The sun is shining through a tree outside the window, creating patches of light and shadow that play across his face. And now I see how long his eyelashes are—dark and thick and delicate—at rest against his cheek. He is so handso it hurts. Why is he here?
"Am I really dreaming again?" I whisper, standing there, staring at him. And then his eyes flutter open, and that deep honey brown is staring back at .
The beep of my heart speeds up on the monitor behind , and I stumble back, tripping over tangled wires. Dex sits up and reaches for , catching before I have a chance to fall, and then I’m suddenly in his arms—being held by him. Both of us go still at the sudden contact, looking at each other silently while my heart makes an audible record of this mont until he finally lets go.
"I’m sorry I scared you. I didn’t an to fall asleep," he says, his voice gravelly. And then he glances at my gown before diverting his eyes to the table and clearing his throat.
Right. I’m wearing a short hospital gown—my hospitalcore trend that we were joking about—and nothing more. Not exactly appropriate for visitors.
"I brought coffee and a few things. I figured the hospital food is probably pretty limited."
"Thank you," I manage to say as I find my way back to the bed where I can cover up. "You didn’t have to do that."
"I wanted to," he says, his voice softer now... kinder. Not that it wasn’t kind before.
Lord in heaven, would it be too obvious if I were to rip these monitors off of right now so that it isn’t so clear what he does to my heart?
"Your dad and I figured we could go get so of your things from the apartnt today so you won’t have to later... clothes or whatever you need. If it’s okay with you, that is. He suggested we et here since he gave you back the key."
"Oh." I bite my lip, thinking of them both going back there and what I might need and what danger that might entail. "It’s really not worth it. I don’t want anyone getting hurt. Moira is safe, so..."
"We’re not going to get hurt," he interrupts and scrubs a hand over his face like he’s trying to remove any remaining traces of sleep. "I promise," he smiles.
And then there’s another mont when our eyes lock, and it creates a wave of feelings with the way he is gazing at now. It’s different than before. Sothing has changed, but I don’t know what it is exactly.
"I have to tell you sothing, Dex. It’s really important." The words tumble out before I can stop them.
I ant to tell him about Lawson yesterday, but when I was trying to work up the courage, he changed the subject to the dream he had. And then he left to go help save my dad. And then... everything after that. So I have to do it now—before he commits to this thing with in his guest house and he’s trapped in a situation that might look bad. I don’t want him to get hurt or to lose his role in the company because he decided to help .
Dex sits in the chair next to the bed and grabs a coffee, offering it to . I accept it with a small smile and then take a sip, thinking about how exactly to say that his brother is a huge bastard and is plotting against him behind his back.
His gaze falls on the shredded pieces of notebook paper on the floor that I forgot to clean up last night.
"Is it about your dreams?" He asks, eyebrows arched when his gaze returns to over his coffee cup, and he takes a sip. "Or is it about my brother?"
Reviews
All reviews (0)