I look down at my hands.They are covered in slick, wet crimson.
When I look back up in panic, I’m in the doorway of James’s apartment.The stench of whiskey and blood assaults my senses.The floor is a minefield of shattered glass that glitters in the dim light.In the center of the room, a body lies face down in a dark, pooling stain.
My bare feet crunch over broken glass as I walk to the body.I kneel in the sticky wetness and, with a strength I don’t possess, I roll him over.
I forget how to breathe.
It’s Matthew.
His face is deathly pale, his eyes closed.A dark red stain blooms across the front of his white T-shirt, right over his heart.
I scream his name in soul-shattering terror.A guttural sound that tears me from my nightmare’s grip.
I bolt upright in bed, drenched in a cold sweat, my heart in my throat.
The heart-stopping image of Matthew bleeding out is burned behind my eyelids.
I’m gasping for air, tangled in the sheets, my own scream still echoing when the door to my room is thrown open.
I scramble back against the headboard as a large figure fills the doorway.
My heart tries to claw its way out of my throat.
The figure rushes towards me, a dark shape moving with terrifying speed.
A panicked whimper escapes me.I press myself deeper into the headboard, trying to disappear.
“Amy!”The voice is a panicked rasp.
Matthew?
But how?
My mind is a tangled mess of what’s real and what isn’t.
The dark figure is at my bedside.“Amy, hey, it’s me,” he says desperately.“It’s me.You’re okay.”
My eyes are wide with terror, unable to separate the man in front of me from the bleeding man in my dream.
There’s a soft click.
The bedside lamp floods the space with light.
It’s him.
It’s Matthew.
His hair is a wild mess, his face is etched with deep concern.His beautiful green eyes are wide with a fear that is entirely for me.
He’s not dead.
He’s here.
He cups my face, his hands warm against my cold, clammy skin.His thumbs stroke my cheekbones in a soothing rhythm.
“Focus on me, love,” he murmurs, his gaze holding mine.“It was just a nightmare.It wasn’t real.”
My trembling hands come up to frame his face, my thumbs pressing into his jawline, needing to feel the solid proof of him.
