I’ve been starting to think the same thing.
But facing the nightmare when I’m awake makes it feel too real.
What if it is, in fact, a memory?
The possibility frightens me more than I’d like to admit.
“I wish you would talk about it,” he murmurs, his hands warm and inviting as they slide softly across my skin in a comforting caress. “With a friend if not with me—or a therapist if it’s something you don’t want to talk about with someone you know—but it’s killing me to see how badly it frightens you. And in the morning, you’re waking up exhausted. This is the fifth night in a row that you’ve startled awake. It’s getting worse, and I don’t think avoiding it is helping.”
My heart squeezes at the concern in his tone.
I feel bad enough that I know I wake him every time the nightmare returns—but knowing that it’s weighing on him this much intensifies the guilt. “You’re right,” I agree, my voice barely above a whisper.
But I don’t have friends to share my bad dreams with, and I don’t particularly like the idea of talking to a therapist, spilling my secrets to a complete stranger.
Still, it feels vulnerable to think about voicing the horrible things those men say to me in my sleep—even to Gio.
With a deep, shuddering breath, I try to steady my nerves, and I keep my cheek pressed against his chest so I don’t have to see his reaction to my dream. “It doesn’t always start the same,” I say, my voice quavering despite my best efforts to control it, and Gio’s arms tighten around me reassuringly, his hands pausing their soft strokes as if he’s rapt with attention.
“Most of the time, it starts with you,” I whisper, and Gio tenses.
“I’m in this nightmare?” he asks, pain and anxiety lacing his tone.
“Just at the start—before it gets bad. We’re… leaving a restaurant or something, and you’re teasing me about something—not wanting me to go. We kiss, and it feels so real, I can almost taste it, but at the same time, it almost doesn’t make sense—why we’re there, why I have to go.” I frown, trying to recall if any of my nightmares have given me an explanation to that.
But I’ve got nothing, and after a moment’s silence, I shake my head, my cheek nuzzling against Gio’s collarbone.
“Then what?” Gio breathes, his chest so still, I wonder if he’s stopped breathing.
“I’m standing by the curb, and I hear you shout something, but when I turn, all I see is this horrified look on your face. And then this van comes flying up behind me. These guys grab me, pulling me inside.” My heart starts to race again, my mouth dry as I relive the moment viscerally—even with my eyes wide open. “They’re… rough with me, forcing me onto the floor of the van, and when I struggle, they just hurt me more.”
A lone tear slips from my eye, and Gio cups my face, the pad of his thumb lightly brushing it away.
But he doesn’t speak—as if he’s worried anything he says might cut my story short.
“It’s… terrifying,” I whisper, my body starting to tremble uncontrollably as cold adrenaline surges through my veins. “They taunt me, telling me that someone named Don Augusta sent them to teach his son a lesson—that I’m too much of a distraction—and that they’re just getting started with me.They…” My breath catches, and when I try to continue, a sob rips from me instead.
“Shh,” Gio soothes. “You’re okay. You’re safe with me,” he whispers, his strong arms holding me in one piece.
I nod, wiping impatiently at the tears that stream down my face now, then rake in another stuttering breath. “They threaten to rape me… and laugh about how—” I cut off, unable to finish my sentence, because now that I’m awake, I realize the “he” they were referring to would have to be Gio from my dream.
He’s who I’m with at the start of the dream—and they want to ruin me so he wouldn’t want to touch me again after they’re finished with me.
The realization is too horrible and revolting for me to say, and I know I can’t finish the sentence.
Because what if it really is a memory?
Even if it wasn’t actually Gio I was with at the time, knowing what those men could have done to me might change the way he sees me.
When it comes down to it, I think that’s why I was afraid to tell him about the nightmare at all.
Because Idon’tknow if it’s real or not, and either it’s a sick part of my subconscious trying to tell me something, or someone—somemen—violated me.
Again, I shake my head and jump tracks. “They start to argue about something, and I use the distraction to try to escape. That’s when I get this pain in my head that wakes me.”
I reach for my head, my fingers brushing the scar that’s hidden beneath my hair, and I trace it lightly.
Then, as the silence stretches between us, I finally find the courage to look up and meet Gio’s horror-filled eyes.
