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No, but I needed to look into her eyes. Hopefully one day she’ll understand. “Come and have breakfast with me.” I don’t give her an opportunity to object, standing and taking her with me, loving the feel of every one of her limbs curled tightly around me. “You’re creasing me.”
“Put me down then,” she says as I carry her down to the kitchen.
“Never.”
“I don’t need a reminder fuck. You can still come to lunch.”
“Mouth.” My laugh is light and quiet. She’s cute. “I’m sorry. I really needed to see you before I go.” I set her on the counter.
“You woke up in the night.”
Oh fuck.“I did?”
“You don’t remember?”
I laugh on the inside, with no humor at all. Remember? Unfortunately, yes. “No.” But I play it down. I have to play it down. I don’t know how much she saw. What she heard. Move on. Be cool. It was nothing. “What do you want for breakfast?” I evade her eyes and go to the fridge. “Eggs, bagel, fruit?”
“You said you need me.”
I swallow, my eyes stuck on the jar of peanut butter on the top shelf. “And?” I murmur. “I say that when I’m awake.”Please drop it, Ava.
“You said you were sorry.”
For more than she’ll ever know. “I’ve said that when I’m awake too.” I face her, and I hate her apprehension. I need to ease that.
I force a smile, and I have no idea how when every fear and feeling I felt when I woke up this morning has returned. “Ava, I was probably having a bad dream,” I say, casual. “I don’t remember.” I quickly turn away before my expression betrays me.
“You were just a bit frantic. I was worried.”
God damn me. I swing the door shut, frustrated, not with her, but with myself, and I go to her, wondering how the fuck I ease her worry without somehow increasing it. I get close, nestling myself between her spread thighs and hold her hands. “Stop worrying about what I say in my sleep,” I order gently. “Did I say I didn’t love you?”
Poor thing looks so confused. “No.”
“That’s all that matters.” My love for her. Love is the answer. I kiss her, breathing her into me, and when I withdraw, I’m quite sure I don’t like the expression on her face.
“That wasn’t normal,” she says with an edge of impatience. “And I’m getting pissed off hearing that tone. You either talk, or I’m gone.”
I stare at her, flummoxed.
“What’s it to be?”
I have a choice? Because right now it feels like any answer I give will be fatal. “You said you’d never leave me.”
“Okay.” She scowls, this time to herself, annoyed—I think—that she’s been so hasty with her threats. “Let me rephrase that.”Yes, please do.“I won’t leave you if you start answering me when I ask you something. How about that?”
Hmmm. I’m not sure that works for me.“It’s not important,” I say, and she laughs. Then moves, trying to get down. Oh no. She’s serious? She’d walk out because I didn’t tell her about a dream? “I dreamt you were gone,” I blurt in a panic, and she stills. “I dreamt I woke up and you were gone.”
“Gone where?” she asks, confused.
“I don’t fucking know.” I leave her on the counter, removing my hands so she can’t feel the extent of my shakes. “I couldn’t find you.”
“You dreamt I left you?”
Left? No. It was as if she never existed. Weird as fuck. But, Jesus, it felt scarily real. “I don’t know where you went,” I explain. “Just gone.”
“Oh.”
“It wasn’t a nice dream, that’s all.” God, I feel so fucking stupid. Pathetic. And yet, this fear is not without reason. And I think I have every right to be scared.
