Page 3 of Ex Somnis

What the fuck is he even talking about?

“If you’re implying…”

“I’m with her almost every night.” The pleasant voice is gone now. “Inside her head, her dreamscape.”

“You don’t have access to her dreamscape. The mechanics don’t allow for that kind of intrusion unless she’s…” Paul’s eyes go wide before he turns away from both of us. His hand goes to the back of his neck, pressing there, and I watch him absorb something that is apparently very significant.

I understand none of it.

“What is happening?” I ask, but neither of them answers.

“Unless she’s choosing to?” Ridge’s mouth does something that isn’t quite a smile.

“Ridge…” Paul glares when he turns his attention back to him, “… what did you do?”

“Me? I just showed her places. Held her hand… made her come.”

Paul makes a sound that is almost a snarl.

Made her… wait.

What?

“Fuck, man. What are you even talking about?”

Ridge glances at me, a measuring look, like he’s deciding whether I’m worth explaining things to, but I have been decided about by people my whole life. I’m used to coming up short, so I look back at him and wait.

Then a car engine turns over, and every single one of us turns.

I know that sound. Of course, I do.

That stupid little cough before it catches.

Her Beetle.

Shit.

She’s bolting.

Through the windshield, I can see her face with that look she gets when she’s made a decision, and it’s not up for discussion. I’ve seen it in the kitchen when she’s decided how a dish should be, and nothing is going to change her mind. I’ve always liked that look on her, that certainty.

I don’t like it now.

“Lemon.”

Her eyes find mine, and I don’t know what she sees on my face, but there’s something else on hers now. Not anger, which would be easier, but sadder, something that looks like I’m sorry and I can’t at the same time, and then the headlights sweep the lot.

She’s gone.

The space she left is enormous, cold, and shaped exactly like something I did to myself.

I thought the fairy lights, “Yellow” by Coldplay, and Jasper’s thumbs-up in the doorway were the universe giving me permission. The universe was not, in fact, giving me permission. It was doing what it does, absolutely nothing, and the permission was my wishful thinking dressed up as fate.

Stupid.

I should have learned my lesson years ago.

The universe hates me.