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“Fuck. I can’t fucking remember. You think I’m lying?” I hunch over, close my eyes.
Why the hell did I think I could do this without Cos?
“Your dreams,” she says. “If you suppressed those memories, your dreams must be the key.”
Memories.
No fucking way. I don’t wanna know.
My reaction makes no sense. I can’t remember what happened that night of my childhood, and yet I’m sure I’d rather not know.
“You have scars from that night,” Gigi says. “On your arm and hand you had cuts, shallow and bleeding a little. You were covered in mud. Said something about the river and a temple.”
“The Pagoda,” Octavia whispers. “That why you asked me about it the other day?
“You’re remembering things,” Gigi says, straightening. “I knew it.”
“I’m not, okay? That’s…”
“From a dream?” She’s still giving me that wounded look, and I gape at her.
Oh fuck. It’s true, isn’t it? I can’t hide from it any longer.
“Tell us what you dream about,” Octavia says in her Mom-voice, the one she used when we were kids to get us to make our beds or gather our toys. “You dream of the Pagoda and Little River. What else?”
I see them in my mind’s eye. The temple. The water, running red with blood.
The pain behind my eye spikes. “I’m… not sure. I see a body in the mud.”
“A body?” Jarett’s voice is sharp. “Are we talking a dead body?”
“Yeah. I mean, I think so? So pale.” My stomach twists in revolt. “Blood. A lot of it. An ax.”
“An ax? Like your ink?” Gigi asks. “So you were remembering all this time. It can’t be a coincidence you got that tattoo.”
“No, that’s from a book. I…”
“Seriously. What book?”
I don’t even bother to tell her I don’t remember. Because that’s bullshit. There’s no book. And I barely remember getting the tat. One morning, waking up with an image of that ax stuck in my mind, I got off my ass and went and had it inked on my skin.
Because in my dream, the ax was… it was…
Sourness fills my mouth. I get to my feet, swaying a little. “Excuse me.”
Stumbling across the living room, I make my zigzagging way to the bathroom, hearing my name being called behind me and ignoring it.
I barely make it to the toilet. Everything I’ve eaten today—hell, this past week—comes back up. The acid burns my throat, my mouth, making my eyes water. I heave until my stomach is empty and my body drenched in sweat.
“Merc.” Gigi is standing at the door.
“Gimme a minute,” I croak.
“We’ll be in the living room.”
I say nothing, and her steps move away. Bent over the toilet, my pulse ricocheting inside my skull like a lead ball, I think about getting up, returning to the living room and dissecting my nightmares with my siblings.
No way. Not today.
