I look back down to my hand and see the tree bark has now started to molten and rot under my fingers.
Another caw.
As soon as I look up, I see all the leaves starting to turn brown, then black.
The tree is poisoned. It’s dying. I’m dying. Is that it? I’m dying?
This is wrong. This is all wrong.
I try stepping away from the tree but my hand is stuck.
I’m stuck.
I’m dying.
Dying.
Dead.
My eyes whip open, as I jolt upright on the bed. Sweat slicked forehead, heart beating so loud I swear I can hear it.
Not again.
Ever since he called earlier this week, I’ve been waking up to these weird, twisted nightmares. It’s beenawful.
Reaching for my phone on the bedside table, I groan the moment I see the time.
Four fucking o’clock.
I guess there’s no time better than ever to go for a run.
***
I snag a free parking spot, thankfully right in front ofBloom & Brew.Hopping out of my truck, I beeline it across the sidewalk and head for the door.
A caramel macchiato sounds perfect after such a draining morning. I just wish I could get to sleep and stay that way until my alarm.
As the week goes by, I’m feeling more and more like a zombie. Elijah is supposed to be coming home tonight and I’d love to be awake and energized when he does.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a man across the street that catches my eye. Dressed in all black, leaning against a black sedan, he’s taking a long drag of his cigarette, while his eyes are fixated on me. With sandy blonde hair like mine, and on the taller side with broad shoulders, he almost looks like Derrick and it makes my skin crawl.
I chew my lip as I walk up to the front door. Is my mind playing tricks on me? He couldn’t be here…justfreelystanding around. Could he?
The man drops his cigarette on the ground as soon as I get to the door. I suck in a breath as he stalks towards me.
Swinging the door open and rushing inside, I barely see someone walking out at the same time. Crashing my body against them and the next thing I see is their drink fly out of their hand and spill a brown liquid all over the floor.
Dammit.
I look down at the mess and then back up at the person. Relief hits first, then guilt, the moment I realize the unfortunate soul is Gabe.
“Oh shit! Gabe, I’m so sorry.” I apologize. Tanya, my favorite barista, thankfully sees the chaos happen and comes running over with a stack of paper towels.
I quickly take them from her hands insisting that I clean it up myself.
“Dude, it’s okay! It happens.” Gabe laughs cheerfully, crouching down to help me soak up the sticky mess.
“Two caramel macchiatos coming up!” Tanya shouts my order out as she returns around the counter.
