“Don’t,” I say quickly. “Please. This one was… different.”
There’s a pause. Then a gust of air before she speaks again. “Okay. I’m listening.”
I swallow. The shower hisses behind me, steam fogging the mirror. I’m just thinking about what I need to reveal and my heart starts racing again.
“I dreamed someone was in my room,” I say slowly, choosing each word with care. “Someone touching me. Sensually... It wasn’t violent, just… very real. Like I wasn’t asleep at all.”
Barbara doesn’t interrupt.
“And I could feel it,” I continue. “Not just in a vague, dreamy way. It was… familiar.”
“Basia,” Barb says gently, “whose face did you see?”
I close my eyes. “That’s the thing. I didn’t. Not really. But I knew.”
Her breath catches on the other end of the line, like I really am dishing hot gossip. “Knew who?”
“Caleb.”
The word hangs between us, heavy and electric, like the man himself.
“Okay,” Barbara says carefully. “We are not panicking yet. Let’s establish facts. You’re under a lot of stress. You have a stalker. You live with a man who looks like a Greek statue carved by trauma. Dreams can get… creative.”
“I know,” I say quickly. “I know all that. I told myself the same thing. But Barb… it didn’t feel like a dream. It felt like I woke up in the middle of something… super hot.”
I notice the time and start stripping. I’m going to be late for work again if I’m not careful, and the shower’s warmth is callingto me. I finish folding my pajamas and look at myself in the fogged-up mirror.
What the…
“And,” I add, my voice barely audible now, “there are other things.”
“Such as,” Barbara prompts.
I hesitate, then glance down at myself, double-checking what I already know.
“I’m not wearing the underwear I went to bed in.”
Silence.
“Girl… what?” Barbara finally says.
“I know exactly what I put on last night,” I rush on, words tumbling over each other. “It was the white cotton pair. The soft ones with the stupid little red bow. I remember because I almost didn’t wear them, but I’d just done laundry, and they were still warm.”
My throat tightens. I look down again.
“I’m wearing purple seamless,” I whisper. “I’d never sleep in these.”
Barbara exhales sharply. “Okay. Okay. Don’t spiral yet. Is there any chance you changed in your sleep?”
“I don’t sleepwalk,” I say. “I never have. And even if I did… why would I change into something functional like I’m about to put on a pencil skirt?”
“Bas,” Barbara says slowly, “I have to admit this is a bit weird.”
“Yes,” I croak, then clear my throat. “Oh, and Caleb started bringing me tea. Every night. Chamomile. Sometimes ginger. To help me sleep.”
“And does it?” she asks. “Help you sleep?”
I think about how deeply I’ve been sleeping lately. How I haven’t woken up once to Poe batting my face for attention. How my dreams have been… vivid.
