Page 4 of Don’t Open Your Eyes

“Shut the door!” Scarlett yelled after her, but Olivia was already halfway down the stairs. Huffing in irritation, Scarlett got up and slammed the door again. Little sisters were so annoying. Her phone pinged and she grabbed it, her heart racing when she saw the name on the screen. Ben. Who needed stupid Ethan Manchester anyway?

She hadn’t told anyone about Ben yet. She’d been given all the lectures on meeting people online, stranger danger, blah, blah, blah. But Ben was all right, and he lived far away—in Chicago. Besides, all they were doing was texting. It’s not like she was telling him where she lived or anything. He’d messaged her on Discord. She was part of a Taylor Swift fan server, and they chatted off and on there until he suggested they move offline and text. After that he didn’t participate much in the Discord server. He said he was getting a little tired of Taylor Swift. She knew what he looked like from his Instagram profile—he was sixteen and they had a lot of the same hobbies. They both loved sailing and tennis, and both weirdly hated pizza. She didn’t know anyone else who didn’t like pizza, but they both agreed that it was totally overrated. She had told him that she lived in Connecticut, close to New York, and that they often went there. He was impressed and said he’d always wanted to go to New York. She didn’t give him her actual address, her father’s words ringing in her head. She wasn’t allowed to put where she lived or where she went to school in any of her social media posts. But she felt bad keeping things from Ben. She didn’t want him to think she didn’t trust him. Plus, he gave really good advice. She opened the message.

Ben: Your “friends” still being jerks?

Scarlett: Yah

Ben: They are F em

Scarlett: Yeah BTW Thx for the advice about no more sitters—so much bttr then having grndprnts here

Ben: NP. U r not a baby. What’s the mascot of your HS? Hopefully, something cool. Ours is so lame. A muskrat.

Scarlett: The Falcons

Ben: Very cool!

A knock at the door made her look up from her phone. “Scarlett, time to come down and do homework,” Dylan said.

“Okay, coming.” She texted Ben that she had to go, swung her legs over her bed, and opened her door.

When she got downstairs, the smell of fresh baked cookies wafted over her. She eyed the plate of chocolate chip cookies and couldn’t resist grabbing one. It didn’t escape Olivia’s notice.

“I thought you didn’t want to eat a ton of sugar.”

“Shut up.”

“Hey, you’re not allowed to say that.”

“Whatever.”

Dylan looked over. “I don’t see any homework.”

Scarlett rolled her eyes and retrieved her backpack from the hallway, bringing it to the kitchen table. She pulled out her math book and got to work. It was hard to concentrate though. She kept thinking about Ben. Maybe she should be more open with him. He wasn’t hiding anything from her; he had even told her where he lived and what school he went to. She knew his birthday too. She debated whether or not to talk to Dylan about it, but she was afraid Dylan would tell her parents, and she knew what they would say. At least she knew what her dad would say—he’d have a cow.

But then again, he worried about everything. They had to text him the minute they arrived anywhere, and when they were on their way home. He rarely let them go to sleepovers—only if he knew the parents well. Even then, he didn’t like it. He would have a conniption if he came home and the door was unlocked. Nothing bad ever happened in their neighborhood, but he was always like, “you never know” and “be careful.” And he was a total freak about privacy. Constantly checking her socials to make sure her pictures had no personal information. So over the top. Her mom wasn’t quite as bad, but she always wanted to keep the peace, so she’d go along with her dad. Scarlett had considered talking to her about Ben but decided to keep it a secret. After all, her mother had secrets of her own.

Annabelle

I’m having dinner at Marco’s but for some reason the menu says Blue Fig. The tablecloths are different too. They have a French Country look—yellow and blue. I take a sip of my iced tea and hand the menu back to the waiter. I smile at my client. “Thank you so much for trusting us with your business. I’m excited to develop a social media plan for you. Can you tell me a little more about your dreams for your business, your reach-for-the-stars vision?”

She begins to speak, and my phone vibrates with a text. I apologize as I glance at the screen. James. Again. He knows I’m at a business dinner. Why does he keep texting me? She resumes talking, and not five minutes later my phone buzzes. But instead of a text tone it plays a weird song I’ve never heard, with the line “Just because you’re crazy doesn’t make you crazy.” I grab the phone and silence it, looking at my client in embarrassment. “Sorry—my kids must have changed my text tone.” I glance at the screen. The message simply says PICK UP! “I’m so sorry. This is my husband.”

She murmurs her understanding, even though she looks annoyed, and I go to the restroom and place the call.

He answers right away. “You need to come home.”

“What’s the big emergency?” I ask, not bothering to keep the hostility from my voice. I surprise myself with my tone.

“I’m sick of looking at your empty chair every night. This is getting out of hand. I’m a doctor, and I don’t work as much as you.”

“I’ll be home when my client dinner is over. And don’t text me anymore.” I disconnect before he can say anything else and turn off my phone. We don’t normally talk to each other like this. Why is he being such an asshole?

“Babe, wake up.” James gently nudged her shoulder. “You slept through your alarm. I’ll take the girls to school. My first appointment canceled on me.”

Annabelle’s eyes flew open and she startled at the sight of him, still feeling the residual anger as she came fully awake. What was it with these damn dreams? At least this one was banal. No homicidal husband in it. “Thanks,” she said as she jumped out of bed, trying to shake it off. She had a meeting first thing this morning and would have to be fast or she’d be late.

“Maybe we should turn in earlier. This isn’t like you. Is it too much screen time at night?” James said.