“I—” I want to tell him everything. Spill my guts right here on the concrete floor and hope like hell he has some advice he can give me. I’ve never felt this unsure, this off-kilter, and it’s freaking me out.
My first session with the therapist was this morning, and though I like her, I don’t trust her. I didn’t mention anything about my dreams or the voice. I couldn’t.
I was too terrified of what she would think of me.Would she call me crazy? Say something was seriously wrong with me?Those questions kept circulating in my head, so I kept my mouth shut for fear of the unknown.
“Millie.” My name is a soft command on his lips, luring me into trusting him. And I think I do. Out of anyone, I trust Rowanthe most with this. I can’t open up to my parents now because my mom is completely freaked out.
The earful she gave me after we left the doctor’s office was proof enough, and then the relief this morning when I came back from the shrink appointment? It was downright palpable. I’ve already put my parents through enough. I can’t add this to the list.
I look up at Rowan. I can already feel the moisture building behind my eyes. I swallow past the lump in my throat and start to talk.
“I think I’m hearing things that aren’t there. Feeling things that aren’t real.” As I’m talking, I start to feel that familiar-but-not sensation at the base of my spine. It’s like a cold rush but deep in my bones that has all the hair on my body standing on end, goosebumps spreading like rapid fire.
I concentrate on pushing the feeling away. I tell myself that it isn’t real, that I’m okay, but it does little to stop the spread of the cold feeling. I continue talking anyway, hellbent on ignoring it. “Then there are the dreams.”
Rowan’s head volleys back like he’s been punched, his back ramrod straight. Tension coats every inch of his body almost instantly.
“What kind of dreams?” His voice is still gentle and coaxing, despite the stress clearly shown on his face.
I push forward, just wanting to get it all out before I lose my courage. “Dreams about two little girls, best friends actually. Doing all kinds of things. Most of the things are dangerous, though.” My eyebrows pull together; that’s a piece of the dreams that I’ve been thinking a lot about lately. They all have the same theme, one that I’m sure means something; I just don’t know what.
“Dangerous how?” His eyes intently watch me, his body still rigid with tension. I feel incredibly self-conscious. What if hethinks I’m crazy? But I quickly push the thought away, which is much easier to do than that cold sensation that is still running rampant in my body.
“Like they are always getting into trouble, or more like Anna is always leading them into a dangerous situation and Lucy doesn’t want to go but follows anyway. It’s always Anna peer-pressuring her.” Something about their relationship, about them, feels so tangible, like I could just reach out and touch them during the dream.
But I feel more connected to Lucy. I feel all of her emotions during the dreams: her affection for Anna, but also her panic and worry when Anna has a crazy idea.
“How long has this been happening?”
This is the other part that I’m sure means something, I’m just not sure what yet. “Not long after the transplant.”
His eyes widen slightly, his shoulders are still inching up towards his ears like the tension is mounting in his body.
A slow, contemplative breath leaves his lips. “Do you think they’re connected?”
He gives voice to the question that’s been swirling around in my head, causing havoc for days.
“Maybe,” I whisper, and that’s what I’m truly scared of. What happens if I have to live with this for the rest of my life? The dreams I can get used to. I feel drawn to Lucy, and there’s an instant love I feel for Anna. But the sensations? The voice? That I’m not so sure I can get used to.
“What do you mean by you’ve heard voices?”
I close my eyes. I can hear her voice so clearly. Crisp femininity, and she was terrified. “Just one. A girl and just one word,my name.”
“Millie,” he says, breathlessly.
“I know. I know. It’s crazy, right?”
“Not crazy,” he whispers. His voice sounds off, gone is the gentleness from moments before, only to be replaced with something else entirely. His own brand of terror.
“And the sensations?” he asks, hoarsely.
That one’s easy because I’m still feeling it, though it’s not as strong as it first was. “Like a cold sensation biting at my spine, a tingle at the back of my neck. It feels like someone’s standing behind me, but no one’s there.”
Trust me, I’ve checked. I catch myself looking over my shoulder, fully expecting a person to be standing behind me, and there’s never anyone. It’s the most unsettling phenomenon of the weird shit that’s been happening to me because of its frequency.
The voice I’ve just heard once. The feeling? It has become an almost daily occurrence.
“Fuck, Millie.”
