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Except I always woke up from that dream. I might be covered in sweat and panting, but I always woke.
It was just a way for my traumatized brain to try to cope with everything that happened when I was a kid.
Now I was riding in the back seat of a woman’s car I’d just met. She worked for the state, and she was taking me to my temporary home. I watched the trees slip by the window and even though it wasn’t the exact image from my dream, the sinking dread in my stomach was the same. The helplessness of knowing I couldn’t stop myself from being cast into hell itself was there, too.
The whole series of events had been such a blur.
My fight with dad.
Getting picked up by the police.
The system absorbing me and bouncing me from counselor to counselor.
And then the news that “an old family friend” was happy to take me in.
It was probably stupid of me, but I’d actually tried to convince the counselor to put me in a foster home, instead. I’d told her all about Cassian and what he’d do to me if I had to live in his house. But it appeared the Stone’s had already injected money into the equation.
I made my way through three different counselors, having to re-explain the situation in full before I realized someone in power was simply re-assigning people to my case whenever I caused trouble.
I had avoided my phone for the entirety of my time in the system. It was mostly because I figured my dad would’ve called trying to get me to come back. But when I finally checked my texts in the back seat, only Zoe and Clint had texted.
Zoe: Please call me when you can. I heard what happened. You okay???
Clint: Where are you?
Clint: Someone said you’re at Cassian’s house? Seriously?
Clint: I’m going to come see you as soon as I can.
I typed out a quick reply to Zoe letting her know where I was and what had happened. Then I thought about replying to Clint. It would be better to wait until I was at school tomorrow so I could explain it to him in person. If he tried to come see me and Cassian was around to see it, I had a sinking feeling it’d be a bloodbath.
We arrived at Cassian’s mansion in the afternoon. I’d missed the last few days of school, but one small mercy was that Cassian should’ve still been at football practice. At least I’d have a chance to get settled without him looming over me.
The woman gave me a smile that said she had no idea what she was delivering me into. “We’re here, sweetie. Need any help with your things?”
I patted the backpack, which was the only thing I’d brought with me. “I’m good.” I smiled tightly. “Thanks for the ride.”
I walked up to the house, seeing it for the first time up close and in the daylight. Perfectly manicured hedges led me toward a sprawling front entrance with a pair of doors that must’ve been twelve feet high. I knocked and waited, steadying my nerves as well as I could.
The door swung open and Cassian’s mom smiled at me. Her lips were just a little too full, though not to the comedic level I’d seen some aging celebrities’ resort to. Her forehead was a little too stiff, even as she flashed a wide, perfectly white smile and rushed to hug me.
I also noticed her breasts were a little too firm as they tried to repel me from the hug, but her gym-toned arms kept me locked in tight to her.
“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry.”
I frowned slightly, then hugged her back. I guess it would make sense that Cassian’s mom might not know what was really going on. She probably thought he and I were long lost friends and she was doing me a favor. But then who had been supplying the money and influence to keep me from getting out of this little arrangement?
She cupped my cheeks, then looked me up and down. “We need to get you fed. You look like you could go for a nice, warm meal.”
I let her swoop me into a small typhoon of motherly affection. She fed me, showed me the clothes she’d had ordered for me—in a range of sizes because she wasn’t sure what I wore and could just donate the rest—and finally led me to my room.
“And that is Cassian’s room,” she gestured to a plain white door along the hallway we were using upstairs.
I glanced at it and felt slightly surprised to see it wasn’t painted black or full of skull engravings in the wood.
Just an ordinary door for a boy who was anything but ordinary.
She had hardly stopped chattering since I’d arrived nearly an hour ago, and I got my first taste of silence once she closed the door and advised me to “get some rest,” even though it wasn’t even dark outside. “Oh,” she said, stopping with her palm on the half-closed door. “Walter and I won’t be back till morning, but the fridge is stocked. Make yourself at home.”
