So much is happening.
None of it makes sense.
As soon as I’m horizontal, Henry climbs in next to me, whining. I hug him tight, hoping that this time he’ll be able to help me keep my thoughts under control.
Instead, I’m dragged back to that Boston night. The chill of the air on my skin, the sound of my feet on the pavement. I don’t see it or hear it, but Ifeelit. The choking fear clamps onto my throat, and I sob out a moan, long and low.
Someone’s only trying to be nice. I just need to let them be nice.
But I can’t just let it be that. Someone’s been here, without my knowledge or consent, and no matter how much I try to convince myself that it’s not some elaborate plot. That my mugger isn’t over a hundred miles away from where he attacked me. That he’s probably just some punk kid and doesn’t think about me… ever… I can’t. Mybodybelieves it.
I fumble around on my nightstand, sniffling, until I find my TV remote. I turn on the TV and go to my favorite show. Maybe it’s silly to have a TV in my room for these occasions only—I never watch it otherwise—but it feels like a necessity to watch my comfort show. It’s dumb, I know every word, and that’s exactly what I need right now. I burrow into the covers, and when a few seconds of grasping doesn’t find my pod, I pull them up to my neck and put a pillow over my head. Tailoring my environment isn’t going to stop this, but at least it will help me ride it out.
Because with as confused as my head is now? The next day or so are going to be alotof napping, a lot of tears, and a lot of time in bed.
After, I can figure out what this means.
After, I’ll make some sense out of it.
After, I’ll become human again.
For now, though, I’ll survive.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Itest the mask for the hundredth time, my fingers attempting to slip under the edges by my temples, then probing along the perimeter for any sign of a gap, but the result is the same. Still stuck, with no sign of budging. Even when I attempt to dig my claws into my flesh and carve it off. It’s like it’s fused to the bone, an inextricable extension of my being.
I fucking hate it. Every time I catch a glimpse of the bone-white facade in a reflective surface, a surge of frustration has me cursing the woman who turned me into a monster.
This isn’t how things are supposed to work. Sure, dreams mold me into whatever is needed on any given night, but I always turn back to the real me once they’ve ended. Or I did until Ada forced me into this mask night after night.
Now I’m not even sure what the real me is.
My very essence is tied to the nebulous whims of dreamers, and the more I put on a mask, the harder it is to see what’s beneath.
Quite literally, in this instance.
It’s why we’re not meant to sustain ourselves on the dreams of a single human. By constantly changing what we are, nothing “sticks.”But it’s too late for me now.
Ada’s dreams were far too enticing from the moment I found her, not long after I first formed. Filled with fantastical realms, yearning hopes, and a heart and mind that called to my own. By the time we’d both grown up, I didn’t want to leave her because the recurring shapes she molded me into were ones I enjoyed taking. The handsome knight riding off on an adventure with his headstrong princess. The shy man at the coffee shop that she finally worked up the courage to approach. The older director working with her on her favorite production, who tried to keep things professional but couldn’t resist her bold advances. Hells, I even liked being her high school bully that she got revenge on because it made her feel better.
The occasional nightmares weren’t my favorite, but I knew they were necessary. Fear serves a purpose. Fear can spur change and growth when given in small doses. Fear can even be enjoyable under the right circumstances.
So I chose her, every night. I let her nightmares of masked attackers play out on repeat, stubbornly believing it would pass once the trauma from her mugging eased a bit. By the time I returned home from a dream and found the mask still on my face, it was too late.
I can’t move on to other dreamers to get more balance, because I’d appear not as what their dreams require but as this masked abomination. No, the only way I can go back to my original form is Ada. She has to take the mask off for me. She has to stop dreaming of horrors and let me be something other than a monster.
I’m fucked unless I can get her to have some godsdamned holiday cheer.
Time moves differently in the dream realm, but I can sense that I’m going to be late if I don’t head out soon. Pulling my hands away from the mask, I smooth down my unruly waves as best I can and resist the urge to pull up the hood of my jacket to conceal my features.It won’t make any difference, and it reminds me too much of the nightmares. The only way I could hide my predicament would be to put a bag over my head, and that’ll raise a whole other host of questions.
The urge to stay home rises, but I’ve already canceled the last five times. If I bail today, I wouldn't put it past my friends to bust down my door and stage an intervention. Going to see them is better than them finding out how I’ve let my typically tidy but vibrant apartment fade into a dull, gray space littered with trash I don’t even remember putting there. Such is the way of the dream realm, my home a reflection of myself. What was once filled with creativity and color is now lifeless and disordered.
I release a gusty sigh and focus on my destination, my messy living room fading away as Rhys’s luxe veranda comes into focus.
It’s far too bright for comfort, and I wince against the light. An immediate sweat forms on the back of my neck, the warm air thick and sticky, scented with jasmine and honey. I have barely a moment before a pair of gasps erupt from the table I’ve appeared beside as my friends take me in.
