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True, that unknown keeps the gloomy cloud at bay. Asher’s presence, although not always pleasant, has been an anchor.
Something I can lean on, something I can watch and breathe.
“What was it?” he asks in that suspicious tone that he’s been using with me since I woke up in the hospital.
It’s like I breathe and he suspects I have an ulterior motive behind that.
“Reina.”
One word. It’s just one word, my name, but he says it with so much authority, so much power, my thighs quiver.
How would it feel like if he used that voice while he’s inside me and —
I internally shake my head. That’s a totally wrong image at this time.
“It was…” My voice comes out hoarse as if I’ve been shrieking at the top of my lungs. I clear my throat. “Just a dream.”
“What kind of dream?” His piercing gaze remains the same, hard and unyielding.
He’s not letting this go.
I lean my head further so it lies on his solid shoulder and I get a complete view of his features. Something has changed about them, they’re almost… softening.
There’s no trace of the Asher who only looked at me with pure hatred.
“It’s not important,” I say.
“Tell me and I’ll decide whether it’s important or not.”
“It doesn’t make sense, okay?” I sigh. “I was calling someone else Reina. It’s obviously some play of my subconscious.”
“Play of your subconscious,” he repeats with a neutral tone as if he’s feeling the words or trying to figure out why I said them.
His expression remains sealed for the most part, but his grip around me tightens a little. “What else happened?”
“The voice called me Rai and we promised each other things… I don’t know. I told you. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Have you had such dreams before?”
“Yeah. A few times.” I pause, squinting at the distance. “Now that I think about it, it was always like I was talking to myself.”
“Talking to yourself. Interesting.”
“Why? What do you think happened?”
The calculating streak rushes back to his features. “I’m piecing it together myself.”
“It doesn’t make sense, what’s there to piece?”
“Is that what you really think?”
I swallow the lump at the back of my throat. “I…don’t know.”
And I don’t want to know. Those dreams must be some cruel joke from my subconscious. Otherwise, things will turn for the worst.
That could mean I have a dissociative personality disorder or something. That’s the only explanation for the fact I talk to myself and have two names for me.
There’s also the possibility of a twin, but it’s null and void. I’ve been an only child my entire life.
