Page 18 of Possess Me

“Tell you what?” I ask, even though I know exactly what he’s talking about.

“You’ve been quiet all morning. Are you feeling okay?”

“Sure. I’m fine.” My stomach twists at the lie. But how can I tell him the truth? What I saw in the journal last night. The whispers I heard once I’d slid into bed. The scent of an unfamiliar perfume that hung heavy in the air, raw and cloying?

There’s something wrong with me.

And I can’t tell Damien. I can’t say a word.

You can. You have to.

I push the small voice down, telling myself I just need a little more time. I need to figure a few things out. Once I have answers, that’s when I can talk to Damien.

The fingers of my right hand stroke the snake bracelet I’m wearing on my left wrist, the motion calming me. I tense when Damien takes my hand, breaking that connection.

“What?” The word is sharp, almost a snap.

His brow furrows. “I’m worried about you. You don’t seem fine.”

Get it together. Get it together for him.

I draw a breath, then tilt my head and offer him my best smile. "It’s nothing. Really. Just...weird dreams.” I start to tell him about the December 12 journal entry. About how it changed after I read it. About Basil and what I think he did to Vivien. About what maybe he’s doing—

No.

I shake my head, trying to clear the wild thoughts as the bracelet grows warm around my wrist. I’m just tired. That’s all. Strange stories and not enough sleep. A terrible combination.

Damien takes my elbow and tugs me to a stop, his eyes searching mine. “Your dreams. How are they weird?”

I shrug. “Honestly, I don’t even remember. I just didn’t sleep well.”

“No,” he says. “You definitely didn’t.”

I frown, more in response to his concerned tone than his actual words. “What are you talking about?”

“You were sleepwalking last night. Do you remember?”

“I—what? No, I wasn’t.”

“No?” He looks almost amused.

“I’ve never walked in my sleep. Not ever.”

“That you know of.”

“I was awake when I got out of bed, Damien. I couldn’t sleep, so I went into the living room.”

“Maybe so,” he says. “I was asleep when you left the bed. But I saw you come back. I spoke to you. You just slipped into bed, said something about cooking, then rolled on your side and started snoring.”

I bristle, not sure if I’m more annoyed by the allegation of sleepwalking or of snoring.

“What did you do in the living room?”

I frown. “I just read a little.” I don’t mention that I was reading the journal.

“What exactly did you read right before you came back to bed?”

“I—” I cut myself off, toying with the snake bracelet as I try to remember. I’d read the mundane journal entry about the costume fittings. But then it had changed. Then the entry was about Basil.