My eyes open to see hers are filled with tears.
I slowly bring a hand up to rest atop hers. She flinches at my touch but doesn’t pull away.
“I don’t blame you.” A few nights ago, I wouldn’t have been able to say that, but I understand now. “What happened to you isn’t your fault. Neither are your dreams.”
Tears spill down her cheeks. “I’m scared, Seth.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll keep trying to stop hurting you in your dreams. I won’t bother you anymore in your realm.”
She shakes her head. “Not of you. Ofhim. He said he wanted to protect me, but now he won’t let me leave. I—” Her voice breaks. “I don’t know what’s going to happen or what he’s going to do to me.”
My blood goes cold. “Tom?” The name is a rough growl from my lips.
She nods, trembling. “If you’re real—if any of this is real and not a byproduct of a concussion—please come back.”
The dream wavers. I try to clutch her against me as horror surges through my veins. “No,” I rasp, desperate to stay by her side. Devastation washes over Ada’s face as she fades away.
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
“Ada,” Tom’s hushed voice pulls me from my dream. “Ada, sweetheart, wake up.” I gasp, eyes wide and searching in the darkness. From the way the mattress is dipping, Tom is sitting on the bed with me, and I scoot away from him.
“You don’t need to make room for me, sweetheart,” he says. “I know you need your rest.”
Thank fuck he can’t see me almost vomit in the dark. I’m still in his guest bedroom, where I fled last night after complaining about a headache from my concussion since he wouldn’t let me go home or shut up about his theories about how feminism has ruined society. Every time I tried to leave, he would find another dumb ass offensive video for me to watch. I don’t know that I actually have a concussion, but it was a good excuse when it got to the point where I just couldn’t take it anymore. After three TV-dinners and about a million red-pill conspiracy videos, I was at my limit.
“You were having a nightmare.” Tom rubs his thumb across my shoulder where he shook me. I am so glad that for once I didn’t dare sleep naked.
Considering I was activelytryingto have a nightmare, Ithink that is pretty good news. Well, I suppose I was actively trying toseemy nightmare, not have one and?—
“No.”
The word echoes through my mind, and the dream comes rushing back. It had felt so different from any other dream, more solid, and Seth had looked at me with such tenderness. Why, then, did he say no?
No, he wouldn’t come back… because he can’t?
No, because he doesn’t want to?
By the light barely peeking through the curtains, I slept all night, so I don’t know how long it’s been since I talked to Seth. It could have been minutes and he’s on his way, or hours and he’s not coming.
No.
It could mean so many things. Perhaps my subconscious is telling me that Sethisn’treal. That no one is coming. That I need to save myself. Eventually, I know, someone will come, when I stop responding to texts or calls. Surely my dad or my brothers will hop on a plane to figure out what is wrong.
If he’s real, though… what he said explains everything. Red yarn tidily strings from one pin to another, and the picture it paints—of me especially—is not entirely flattering. If what he said is true, I’ve tortured this poor man for years. He’s had to do whatever my depraved sleeping mind came up with, and now I’ve trapped him in a monstrous form he so clearly despises.
If he’s truly my nightmare—my dream monster—then he knows me better than anyone. He’s seen the absolute worst in me, my horrible thoughts and unflattering worries. He was so desperate to stop being that monster that he made my lack of celebration his problem. The wrapping paper, the book, the lights and music… the cookies. All of it was to make me happy… but why? Does he care about me? Or was he simply trying to stop being my nightmare? When we had?—
Oh. God.
Have I been having sex with this man—monster—against his will? Jesus, I am as bad as Tom.
Speaking of, he must have said something, because now Tom is looking at me like he’s waiting for an answer.
“Sorry, what?”
There’s enough light now to see that he’s in a white tank top and boxers, smiling indulgently down at me. “I asked how you were feeling, but there’s no need to answer. You’re obviously not feeling well. You get some more rest and I’ll make us some breakfast.” He leans down, like he’s going to kiss me on the forehead, but I stop him with a hand on his chest.
