by J.J. Bonds
**********
“Tell me about your dreams,” Anya commands. I had a feeling she wasn’t going to let them go after our last session. I have to remind myself that I opened this can of worms by telling her about the nightmares in the first place.
“I told you before. They’re no big deal.” I have to fight the urge to squirm in my chair. I settle for twisting my hair. I’m still not sleeping well, and the dreams are getting progressively worse, but Anya doesn’t need to know that.
“Then you won’t mind talking about them.” She’s eyeing me watchfully. I’ve seen this look before. It’s usually followed by commentary I don’t like and don’t want to hear. I brace myself for the worst. I know I have to keep my temper in check with Anya today. “How often are you feeding?”
I lie. “I don’t know. Two or three times a day?” The answer is actually more like four or five which I know is a lot even for an adolescent. She’d be even more concerned if she knew how much blood I was consuming just to keep myself functioning properly.
“You’re under a great deal of stress, Katia. Maybe we should lighten your course load?”
“No!” I protest anxiously. I scoot to the edge of my chair, prepared to beg if that’s what it takes. “I can handle it. Really.” I force a smile. I’m getting better at lying. I feel like it’s all I’ve been doing since I got to Crossroads. Plus, I know that if I drop classes I’ll just have to make them up later. “I can handle the work and my dreams.”
“I asked you last time what you thought they meant and you said nothing. Do you still think that?” she asks.
“Yes.” I am emphatic on this point. I refuse to give my nightmares credence by wondering at their meaning. It’s bad enough they’re costing me precious sleep. When I looked in the mirror this morning, I could hardly believe my own eyes. I know I look terrible. The hollowness of my face is a testament to my exhaustion.
“The man from your dreams, the one with the red eyes, have you dreamt of him recently?”
“Why? What difference does it make?” I snap.
“It’s just a question. Why are you getting so upset?” Anya asks gently, pushing her dark hair back from her face. She’s not nearly as soft and innocent as I’d imagined when we first met. I now realize that there’s no haircut in the world that could make her less formidable. I’d been so naïve that day at the airport.
I cross my arms defiantly and shift my chair so I don’t have to look her in the eye. We both know why I’m upset. It’s obvious. That creepy monster has been in my dreams more frequently. Always stalking me. Always trapping me like a caged animal.
“Yes. He’s in my dreams. All the time.” I admit, answering her original question. I hate conceding this. It’s just another weakness that she can exploit at a later time.
“Why do you think that is? Is he someone you know? Someone from your past maybe?”
Yeah, right. Is she serious? Where I grew up the men didn’t have inhuman red eyes, and she knows it. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. But there is a sense of… familiarity.”
“A connection?” she prods, eyes blazing.
“They’re just dreams, Anya. Nothing more,” I tell her firmly. “You were right about one thing, though,” I say.
“What’s that?”
“Nik. He’s kept his word. We’re training together again.”
She smiles smugly. “I told you so.”