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Trine
There are things in my life I would pay to forget.
So many of them.
They mostly happened when I was a kid, and after I left home when I was seventeen, everything seems to have changed. It took a while, but my life got a lot better.
And then years were taken away from it, and I didn’t realize just how angry I was about that until I crawl into bed that night. I can hear Bryony picking at her acoustic guitar as she watches TV in the living room. She wanted to talk to me, but I just walked past her. I’m not ready to talk about any of this, not yet, and I’m pretty sure she’s going to push me.
The day has been wild, and I need time to process.
But there’s no time.
The moment I take my clothes off and crawl into bed, I can feel exhaustion overtake me. Everything feels like darkness, my eyelids closing even before I can get comfortable under my blanket, my cheek flat against my pillow.
When my eyes open again, the ceiling of my tiny bedroom, which is normally covered by glow-in-the-dark stars, is hidden behind ivy branches and Spanish moss. The foliage in my bedroom is so overgrown that it’s only inches away from my face, and I place my hand over my face to stop myself from sneezing.
I get out of bed to try and orient myself.
It doesn’t work.
My eyes burn, and I realize that my bedroom is swarming with pollen. Birds chirp somewhere nearby, and bugs buzz around me. I see a dragonfly fly up to me and I try to swat it away, but it lands on the tip of my nose. It’s heavy and disgusting, and when I move my face away, it remains glued to me.
I take a step back, and I feel the side of the bed pushing against the back of my knees. I sit down despite myself, mostly because there’s nowhere else to go. As I look around, I realize that the door is locked, and though I’m not sure why, I know that I can’t open it.
I’m trapped here.
I’ve been placed here to wait for someone.
I hear footfalls approach the room, leaves crunching underfoot, and then the lock clicks open. I look up to see the door pulled open completely. A silhouette moves against the darkness, only something like harsh silver light shining from behind the person approaching me.
As soon as he walks through the door, I recognize him. He’s the man from my dreams; the man who’salwaysin my dreams. His eyes are amber when he’s far away, dark gold when he gets close.
"Don’t get up," he says softly, but his voice still feels like it resonates everywhere in the room. I can feel it seeping into my bones, like cold water. "I’ve been waiting for you."
"Could we meet somewhere nicer next time?" I quip. I often joke when I’m nervous, I just didn’t think I’d be able to do that in a dream. I guess I don’t know what I can do in a dream. I try to stand up, but something is holding me down, a strong hand on my shoulders.
"Tell me how you’re doing," he growls.
"No," I say. "Tell me your name first."
"You don’t need to know my name," he says, getting so close to me that his knees are practically touching mine. "You don’t need to know anything about me."
I groan and fight against the hand on my shoulder. Whoever is holding me down is very strong, but I can just about wriggle out of their grip. It takes almost everything in me to get to my feet, and the man puts his hand on my chest, right above my breasts.
His fingers are splayed, his skin hot against mine. It takes me a second to realize that I’m wearing pajamas, an oversized shirt and boy shorts, and the man is in a suit.
Why’s the man in a suit? Why wear a suit to come to an overgrown bedroom? I open my mouth to ask him, but he shakes his head, a smile on his face. My gaze lingers over his mouth. His teeth are perfect, his jawline strong, but it’s still hard for me to figure out what his features are.
All I know for sure is that he’s incredibly handsome.
"It’s not about what I need. It’s about what I want," I say. His face is inches away from my own. I can see the way his eyelashes curl, the gray flickering in and out of his hair. He could be twenty-five or in his fifties, and it’d be hard for me to tell. Whatever his age, he’s incredibly magnetic, and as he inches closer to me, I can feel him breathe against the skin on my nose.
The dragonfly flies away when he does, and he laughs under his breath.
"Good," he says. "I need you to realize how much control you have here."
"How much control do I have?"
