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“What are you just standing there for?” I shout. “Call 911! Help me!”
He still just stands there. “There is no helping you. You did this to her.”
I shake my head and look back at the love of my life. “No. She'll be fine. Just like Tess. She'll be okay! Just fucking call 911!”
“She's gone, E.”
“No!” Laying her down, I start to do CPR the same way I did to Tessa. “She's going to be fine!”
“E,” Zayn deadpans.
“No!”
“Easton!”
My eyes fly open and I immediately sit up, clutching at my chest and trying to catch my breath. Zayn sits on the bed beside me and just watches to make sure I'm all right. It's been two years of these nightmares, so he's used to it by now, but this one was something different.
Something darker.
“You were screaming,” Amelia says.
It's then that I realize she's standing in the doorway. “It was just a bad dream.”
She obviously doesn't buy it, but she nods anyway and goes back to bed. Zayn, however, stays as my breathing evens out and I flop back on the bed.
“It wasn't the same nightmare, was it?” he asks.
I shake my head and rest my arm on my forehead. “It was, until it wasn't.”
“Worse?”
“Much worse.”
He sighs, staring at the floor. “I'm calling Jace's therapist tomorrow and making you an appointment.”
“No,” I argue. “I'll be fine.”
“You won't!” He finally turns to look at me. “It's been two goddamn years of this, E. And it's not getting any better. You're going to see a therapist.”
“And if I don't?”
“You will.” Z stands up and walks back to his room, leaving nothing up for discussion.
What he doesn't know is that I was seeing a therapist of sorts.
Tessa.
She's been taking classes to get her degree in psychology and was using the things she learned to try and help me. Though I wasn't exactly being honest. She seems to think I just have a little bit of residual fear. I didn't tell her about the nightmares or that I can't even take a Tylenol without it making me crave an oxycodone.
No.
This is my life, and I'm not fucking going.
I'll be fine.
I roll over onto my side, trying to fall back asleep. But every time I close my eyes, I picture Kennedy's lifeless body. I think of how she stopped breathing and her skin turned ghostly white. It stays in the front of my mind and keeps me wide awake.
After trying everything I can to wipe the vision from my mind, I throw the covers off me and sit up. I just need to make sure she's okay. Once I see that she's fine, alive and well and thriving, it'll go away.
