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Had he been behind my wardrobe malfunction?
Shaking my head, I hesitantly lifted the uniform as if it was a poisonous snake preparing to strike. There were no holes, no shreds, and I was shocked to see it was in my size.
Was this a trick?
Despite my unease, I found myself methodically dressing, reveling in the warm fabric and smell of laundry detergent. I had no doubt Kace had used his connections with the school to get me this uniform.
Fully dressed, I stepped out of the room and headed toward Beau’s.
The blond giant was leaning against the wall outside his door when I arrived, waiting for me. Without a word, he took my hand in his and pulled me in the direction of the cafeteria. His large hand made me feel so small and dainty. Fingers interlocked, I could almost imagine we were boyfriend and girlfriend instead of merely best friends.
Why did that thought make my heart skip happily?
“I had the strangest dream,” I said to Beau conversationally. He turned to face me, one eyebrow raised inquisitively. Explaining quickly, I recalled my dream to Beau. I told him about Aiden making an appearance at our high school, which alone was strange. I would’ve remembered someone like Aiden gracing the halls of Ravenswood High.
Beau listened to it all with a contemplative frown on his face. Only when I was done did he grab my shoulders, halting my forward progression.
His fingers lightly traced over my inner arm, writing into my skin.
Maybe not a dream. Maybe memory.
I frowned.
“It wasn’t a memory,” I assured him. “I would’ve remembered Aiden at school. You would’ve, too.”
His face twisted, deep in thought, and his finger lifted to tap at his chin.
Weird dreams, he wrote after a moment of silence.
“You’ve been having weird dreams, too?” I questioned, easily able to understand his eloquent language. Beau nodded. His brows were drawn tight, and his lips were puckered. “What happened?”
While one hand continued to tap at his chin, the other rubbed soothing patterns into my arm. His touch elicited goosebumps all over me.
With a sigh, he removed his hand and reached toward a bulletin board, pulling down a sheet of paper. It was an advertisement for support groups, particularly ones dealing with sexual assault.
Turning it over, Beau grabbed a pen from a cup near the board and began to write.
Beau hadn’t always been mute. There was a time, many years ago, when he had been loud and vibrant. A shining light. A beacon breaking apart the monotony of darkness.
That had all changed, though, after his stepfather had murdered his mother. His therapist called it selective mutism.
I called it silence. Complete and absolute silence. It was almost unnerving at times. Daunting, even. I knew that he had so much to say, but no will to say it.
Clearing my throat, I waited for Beau to hand me the slip of paper, his messy scrawl taking up the entire back.
They’re strange. Half the time I wake up not remembering them. What I do remember is Dylan, oddly enough. I remember being furious and attacking him. And I also remember him fighting back. And something with a knife. You’re there as well, leaning over me. Crying. And then I wake up.
Beau shrugged his large shoulders, and I gulped. Something about his words…
I sifted through my memories, looking for any truth to them, but I came up blank.
It was just a dream, after all. Who said that dreams had to hold snippets of truth?
I could see that it was bothering him. His eyes were abnormally large in his face, and dark shadows marred the skin beneath them.
“It’s just a dream,” I assured him, squeezing his fingers.
I didn’t know who I was trying to convince.
