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“Hey, man. Listen…”
But he isn’t listening. Now he’s planning how we’re going out Saturday night to a bar he knows and how it’s going to be so awesome. With my nightmares worsening, going out is not in the cards any time soon. I can barely make it to nighttime before dozing off. I’m dead on my feet.
And then I see her.
There’s no way to miss her, not for me. She’s like my own private beacon, shining at the edge of my vision, calling me.
I resist. I tell myself not to be a fucking idiot.
But she looks up and gives me a sweet smile, and fuck it. Something inside me unclench
es, I take my first real breath in days, and I’m already walking toward her.
“Merc!” Elliot calls after me, but I don’t even turn.
I hurry toward her. “Hey. Hi.”
At this brilliant conversation opener, her smile slips. “You,” she says.
“Yeah.” I stop and lick my suddenly dry lips. “I thought you might want to study with me. Calculus. You said you’d like that, remember?”
I wonder how I remembered this bit, but hell, anything but stand there like an awkward teenager. Besides… I’d had a good time with her in that dimly lit diner. I’d felt relaxed, and free, and kind of happy. It had felt right. The dark images from my dreams didn’t seem to reach me when she was around.
Funny how I can’t quite feel that way now as she glowers at me. It’s as if the girl in the diner was another person, in another universe.
Why is it that this girl can make me hard and horny but confuses the hell out of me?
“I don’t remember telling you that,” she says in a clipped tone.
And that’s the problem right there. She barely remembers me when I can’t fucking stop thinking and dreaming about her.
She’s dressed in a dress today, light gray, and high heeled pumps. No cat T-shirts. So conservative. So… unlike herself.
Wait, this makes no sense.
“Look, you’re a nice guy. You’re cute. You got girls lusting after you. I’m not one of them, so leave me in peace, okay?
I lift my hands. Whoa. Okay. Fucking hell.
Hey, it’s all right. Got it this time. Message received loud and clear. Never going near her again.
Fuck that. This chick isn’t for me.
I’m done.
“…and together with Coleridge launched the Romantic Age,” a voice drones somewhere in front of me, and I blink, my eyelids too heavy to lift.
Dammit. This week I’ve barely caught a wink, and I keep falling asleep through my literature class. I’ve skipped work at the garage with the excuse that I need to catch up on classes, and here I am, dozing on my desk.
JC is right, I think randomly. I need to get laid and get psycho girl out of my system. Get everything out—the twisted dark dreams and the weariness of sleepless nights. Maybe a good fuck will help where the sleeping pills have failed.
Grabbing my stuff, I slink out of the classroom and stand outside, in the weak sunshine of the late afternoon, pulling on my jacket. Students pass me by, chatting and laughing and smoking, and I’m struck by a feeling of déjà vu.
Maybe it’s the light. It reminds me of the light in my dream, gilding the outline of a body, shimmering on dark liquid that’s pooling on the ground…
“Merc?”
I jerk. “Shit.”
