Page 46 of Was I Ever Real

I should have known better—should have picked up on the sheer coincidence of his messages while I was in his room. Instead, I played right into his hand.

I don’t even know why I ended up there, my feet just carried me to the end of the hall and I simply walked in. Was I even looking for anything in particular? I don’t think so. Or maybe I was unconsciously looking for some small clues that Connor is human and not this larger than life version of himself he parades around in.

A vulnerable hint of humanity. Not to take advantage of but more to understand him better. Not sure why I would even want to know him better that way, it’s not like we’re close. Never in my life have I misconstrued sex with emotional connection. And I’m not about to start now.

Although I can’t deny our sexual chemistry, I would rather swallow glass than to think this is more than what it is. But something about blurring the lines of our arrangement is a powerful aphrodisiac. I have a hard time controlling myself around him, I can at least admit that.

My eyes rove over the sprawling ocean, my mind still restless and without purpose, when I’m suddenly reminded of a legend my father used to tell my sisters and I. Of a young and frivolous girl named Rose who loved to dance. One night, during festivities, a stranger appeared at her family house, and Rose danced with him till the stroke of midnight.

It was then revealed that she had been dancing with the devil.

There’s many versions of this story. In some the devil gifts her his own necklace, binding her to him, then dragging the girl back to hell. Then there’s one version where the local priest intervenes and saves her. She ends up joining a convent and dying a few years later.

Not sure which ending is worse.

All I know is that I’ve danced with the devil before and I know I will dance with him again. Especially when he’s dressed in infuriatingly dapper suits, with eyes so dark I could lose my way by simply staring back into their bottomless depths, and be led straight down to hell.

I’m trapped in my father’s office. There is no door for me to escape and his blood is everywhere. Like water running out of a faucet, the room fills and fills and fills. The blood soaks my white dress, rising up my ankles, my knees, my thighs. I can no longer see my father’s lifeless body but I know it's still here somewhere.

I’ve killed him.

And now I am bound to suffer God’s wrath.

I will drown in this room. I will die with my father’s blood filling my lungs.

A sordid baptism fit for a sinner.

I claw at the walls, desperate to find a way out, the blood now up to my chest.

I won’t survive this.

I bang on the wall with my fists and scream. I scream so loud it hurts my ears, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop.

I jolt awake in bed, frantically sitting up and gasping for air. Fighting at the shadows, terror freezing my veins. I feel hands holding my arms and I’m filled with a blind primal need to defend myself.

“Lenix!” Connor growls, “It’s me. You’re safe. It’s okay, you’re okay, it was just a dream.”

My mind is still stuck in the room full of my father’s blood as I continue to fight against his grasp, my heart slamming hard against my chest.

“Listen to my voice.” His tone is much softer now, his hands stroking my arms up and down. “Breathe, Lenix, just breathe.”

His words finally cut through the daze, and I fall still, but my chest continues to rise quickly up and down, my breath ragged and harsh.

“Connor?” I rasp.

My eyes finally adjust to the dark as I try to calm down. His hands are still wrapped tightly around my arms, his body hovering close to me, bare chested and on his knees almost straddling me but not quite.

“You’re okay, my darling,” he murmurs softly.

The vulnerability of the moment slaps me in the face so hard that I’m suddenly choking on it.

I try to shake myself out of his hold but he just digs his fingers harder into my arms, his eyes never leaving my own.

“Can you not?” I bite out, but he’s obviously not deterred in the slightest, never loosening his grip. “It was just a dream, I’m fine.” My voice cracks and I flinch at my tone.

“Didn’t sound like just a dream to me,” he says darkly. “I’ve heard screams like yours before. And I’ve usually been the cause of it.”

He finally lets go of my arms but leans closer while I try to skitter away, hitting the headboard behind me. His touch is surprisingly gentle and it rattles me almost as much as the nightmare I just crawled out of.

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