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I know he’ll make it better. He’s a balm each and every time. He can make it go away.
But he can’t explain this. Nothing can explain this.
I reach for my phone and miss it, but then I grab it again, my nails digging into the carpet as I drag it closer to me. “Pull your shit together,” I mutter under my breath. I lift my gaze to the front door as I scroll for Sebastian’s number.
My body is hot, and tense and the fear threatens to consume me.
It’s locked. The door is locked.
Ring, ring, ring.
No answer.
I stare at the screen as if it’s lying to me. I don’t know how long I sit there on my knees, my ass on my heels as I stare at the fucking phone, hating it and hating this place and freezing. I’m so cold. I’m so fucking cold.
It was a nightmare, it’s not real.
I try again and get the same result, voicemail.
Swallowing thickly, I brave looking at the text message again.
I could ask who it is, but they won’t tell me.
I could ask for proof, but I don’t want to see.
Instead, I try Sebastian again because he’s all I have. And still, I get nothing. My heart races and the anxiety grows inside me, burning me from the inside out and nearly shoving me over the brink of insanity.
It’s okay, I tell myself as I rock on the floor.It’s okay.
It’s just a nightmare. Just a text.
Just another coincidence.
“Bastian,” I cry out for him and feel so unworthy. So unhinged.
Where is he?
He has to be with Carter, out on the edge of the city where there’s no reception. It’s my fault. I told him to go there. It’s my fault, I repeat to myself.
Finally, my body moves. I need to get dressed and go to him. I can’t stay here. I won’t do it. I need to tell him; I need to tell someone. I’m breaking down and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what’s real.
I’m not crazy.
A scream tears through me as the phone rings in my hand. I drop it, the vibrations feeling like fire against my skin.
It rings again, and I see it’s Sebastian.
My fingers shake as I answer it and wait for his voice.
“Chlo?” he asks, and I struggle to put what’s going on into words.
“I need you,” is all I manage. I can barely breathe.
“Chloe, it’s okay.” I hear the tone of his voice morph from curious to concerned. “What’s wrong?” he asks me.
“I had a nightmare,” I cover my mouth with my wrist, remembering my mom and her words.
“Chlo, it’s just a dream,” he tells me as tears prick my eyes.
