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I never have dreams. Ever.
I don’t know if it’s because I simply can’t remember them, or if my sleeping mind literally just doesn’t go there, but this is the first time in years that I’ve remembered even a snippet of a dream.
Already, the strange images and feelings are slipping away, leaving me feeling woozy, confused, and agitated.
Fighting back a wave of nausea, I slip out of bed and stumble to the bathroom, flicking on the tap before splashing water on my face. When I pat my face off and look into the mirror over the sink, my skin looks pale in the darkness, my eyes like dark shadows. The image creeps me the fuck out, so I flip on the light even though the sudden flood of brightness makes my temples throb even harder.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
After I left the stairwell, I didn’t have the motivation to do much of anything. I fell asleep ten minutes into a half-hearted attempt to study, barely managing to set down my tablet and turn off the lamp beside my bed before I passed out.
Jesus, if I knew what was waiting for me, I would’ve tried harder to stay awake.
I’ve never been the type to be afraid of the dark. In fact, I usually prefer it. But that doesn’t stop me from turning on every damn light in my dorm before finally crawling back into bed. I stare at the ceiling until the first hints of dawn are creeping through the windows, and only then do I finally fall asleep.
The dreams don’t stop.
I expected the remembered images to be a one-time fluke, but instead, the dreams persist almost nightly, getting wilder and more bizarre than my nonsensical run down the long corridor of the first dream.
My sleep for the next two weeks is, in a word, shit.
Just like the black hole that used to live in my chest, sleep was once a place of blissful nothingness for me. But no longer. This new nightly intrusion is unfamiliar and uncomfortable.
“You look like you need to get out and do something fun.” Max slides into a seat beside me as we settle in for lunch.
We’ve almost reached the mid-point of the semester, and she’s actually starting to fit in here—much more than I am, anyway. I half expected her to stop hanging out with me as the rich little clique absorbed her into their ranks, but she’s steadfastly refused to do that.
And she still hates Caitlin and her posse with a vengeance, so as far as I’m concerned, we’re good.
“Is this you inviting me to a party?” I shoot her a look. “Because I’m all booked up for stripping sessions, unfortunately.”
Max snorts. “Nah, no parties. But seriously, you do look a little strung out. You should do something this weekend besides just study and paint. There’s a home football game—”
“Oh, hell no.” I shake my head. “Seriously?”
She shrugs. “I mean, I’m not gonna paint my face blue and gold or put on a cheerleading outfit or anything. But sure, I’ll go watch some beefy guys throw a ball around, tackle each other, and slap each other on the ass.”
“Well, when you put it that way…” I cock my head, a lascivious grin tilting my lips.
“Exactly.” She nods, as if she’s proved her point completely. “So you’ll come with me?”
I spread the last few bites of my lunch around on my plate, making a noise in the back of my throat. “Maybe.”
“I’ll take it.”
As she grins at me, I catch movement over her shoulder. Declan slides his chair back from the table where he’s been sitting with Gray and Elias in their usual spot. His gaze flicks to me so fast that it’s almost imperceptible, then he says something to his two friends and leaves the cafeteria.
I force my attention back to Max as she fills me in on the details of the game—what time it’s at and where we should meet beforehand. My “maybe” has already been turned into a “yes,” but I can’t get mad at her for it. She’s just trying to help, and she’s right. I do need a distraction. Something to get my mind off those fucking dreams.
I wait a few minutes, taking my time finishing my lunch, then tell Max I’ll text her later before rising from the table. I don’t look in Gray’s direction as I walk across the cafeteria and slip out into the hall. If he’s watching me, I don’t want to know or think about it. We haven’t talked once since that day in my dorm room, and I’ve decided the only way to deal with this fucking hot and cold thing we have going on is to make sure the temperature stays set to frigid at all times.
Fuck Gray Eastwood.
Any way but literally.
The second floor of this building has smaller meeting rooms for events and fundraisers and stuff. I push open the door to the stairwell and head up, slowing as I near the second-floor landing.
Declan sits on the top step, a rolled cigarette dangling from his lips. He tips his head toward me as he takes a drag, but he doesn’t say anything as I settle on the stairs beside him.
