I suddenly feel foolish and entirely juvenile for risking my safety—and ultimately the safety of our child.
“Alright, Nick. If that’s what you need from me. Will we talk later?”
“Of course we will. Now go on. I love you.” He kisses me hard, making stepping away from him all the more difficult.
In this moment I soak him in, knowing that this could be the last I ever see him. Now that the truth is out, it’s only a matter of time before something happens. What? I have no clue, but I want to make certain that if this is the last time we ever touch, I will never forget how it feels.
My fingers pull downward on his face, flowing slowly down his neck and chest. My eyes close as my fingertips explore every nook and cranny of his skin.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Memorizing every part of you,” I answer with my eyes still closed.
As my fingers find their way back across his lips, I trace them softly, mentally noting every soft ridge. I touch my own lips to his, lured in to the magnetic pull.
“Dominick,” I speak in a near whisper.
“Yes, baby?”
“When I die, will you be there waiting for me?”
“I can do better than that,” he answers.
“How?”
He smiles so brightly I’m blinded by the sheer beauty of it.
“We will have this conversation another time. It’s time to wake up, angel.” He fades to black.
***
As my eyes open I am taken aback by the light in the room. A nap turned into an all-night affair.
I anxiously begin chewing my fingertips. Heather still lies peacefully sleeping on the bed—still in his world. As much as I’m contemplating waking her, I know Nick needs to talk privately with her. I don’t get it; they fight and then he sees something in her and he automatically calms down. I know he needed to sort some things out with her first, but I want her up so she can tell me what’s going on. What couldn’t I know? Selfishly, I don’t want to share him with anyone, especially being unaware of what is going on in there, but if Nick is excluding me, I know it’s for a good reason. The fact that he knows the truth surrounding his death—even more than Heather told me—and still hasn’t crossed over has me wondering: what don’t I know? What are they hiding from me?
I let go of the questions I can’t answer right now and move on to another: how did Heather even know I was here when she was at work? I know for a fact she had already left the building.
Plaguing over the details of my night has taken a toll. Not only do I feel groggy and tired, but my stomach aches of hunger.
“You’re hungry, aren’t you, Little Monster? Should we go back to the apartment and get some grub?” I ask aloud to my starving little baby. “Daddy won’t be happy to know I’m keeping you hungry so we better go.”
I leave Heather to her business with Nick and lightly close the apartment door as to not wake her. On my way out I virtually plow into Peyton.
“What were you doing there, Sydney? I thought we had an agreement,” she asks with an irate tone.
“Agreement or not, why are you watching me? Last time I checked I don’t need a babysitter,” I slam back.
She exhales impatiently, calmly breathing through the irritation. A mind-cleansing trick, I’m sure.
“You’re right, Sydney, you don’t need a babysitter. Honestly, I was just trying to help. I did promise to protect you, remember? That’s all I was trying to do.”
“I know, Peyton. I’m sorry for being rude,” I sigh.
“No apology needed. Why don’t you let me take you to breakfast, Sydney? I could sure go for some greasy diner food,” she offers.
I should accept, seeing as how I have been dying to get out more. I have permission and a guard offering to take me out; however, I want to be close by when Heather wakes up so I can make sure Nick is okay. I don’t want to rock the boat by telling her Heather is in with Nick as we speak, so I respectfully decline.
“Actually, I was just going to head back up to the apartment and have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I would like a nice long bath before my massage therapist gets here.”
She looks puzzled by a thought.
“I figured you’d never want to see another peanut butter and jelly sandwich again after that’s all Lana fed you when—” She abruptly stops talking, shaking the remainder of the sentence from her lips. “I’m sorry, Sydney. I know you aren’t ready to talk about that yet—although, I think you really should. But it’s not my place to force you. Forgive me for bringing it up.”
“No big deal, Peyton. Thanks to yours and Heather’s hospitality, it’s getting easier day by day.” I offer a smile to mend the awkwardness.
“Glad to help. We have to keep you right as rain for that sweet little boy. A stressed mommy is a stressed baby.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll see you later. Maybe you can come up for dinner tonight.”
“I would love to. See you around seven? I won’t be able to stay long; I have to leave town tonight.”
“Seven sounds good. See you then.”
Relieved that the backlash from the poor choice I made in going to see Nick was not as bad as I expected, it instilled the thought in me that it might not be such a bad day, after all. Nick seems well, Heather and he are getting along—I hope—and Peyton isn’t mad at me. She seems so genuine, and maybe she’s right. Talking about what happened with Lana might put me in a better place mentally. I do need to be at my best when my son comes, especially if Nick is to be taken from us at any given time. I have to be mentally strong enough to bear it while caring for a child.
I shake the negative thought of Nick disappearing from my head as I walk back into the upstairs apartment, heading directly for the best place for distraction—the kitchen. As I smear an overly healthy amount of peanut better on a slice of soft white bread, I begin revisiting those days locked in the dark room—and Lana’s shitty version of my favorite comfort food. As insignificant as it is, I was terribly bothered that she didn’t even bother to put peanut butter on both sides of the bread. She merely slapped the knife across one piece and flung a glop of strawberry jelly on the other piece, not even smearing it in. Not the most important factor in my days of being held against my will, but something that bugged me nevertheless.
As I sink my teeth into my version of the most amazing food ever created, I feel no surprise that I still love it. That annoying feeling of bread trapped like peanut-butter cement against the back of my teeth is somehow soothing, and brings me back to my happy place.
Hearing the doorknob move sends tingles through my spine. When it creaks open, I’m already waiting anxiously on the other side.
“Well, what did he say? Is he okay? Why did he just kick me out of my own dream like that?” I bomb her with questions.
“Whoa, woman, I just woke up, give me a second.” She yawns. “And you’re so annoying. I can’t leave you alone for a second without getting into badness. I really meant it; I’m working from home from now on.”
“I’m sowwy.” I poke my bottom lip out, uplifted that she doesn’t look somber. That tells me Dominick is still very much with us.
“Yeah, yeah.” She grins as she pecks my cheek. “What you eating on?”
“PBJ, my favorite. And yes, before you even ask…I still love it. Lana’s were nasty, anyway.”
“Huh?” She seems confused.
“Well, your mom busted me outside the old apartment, and we landed in a conversation about PBJ somehow. She was surprised that I still liked it after Lana fed it to me for a month without variance. Except that one night she made that hideous spaghetti.”
“Well, that’s good you’ve been opening up about your experience with Lana. I didn’t even know that’s all she fed you. At least you’re talking to someone about it though, even if it’s not me; I’m just glad you’re getting it out.”
“I wouldn’t go that far, but I guess I should consider it. Baby steps, dear.”
“Indeed. Now make me a dang sandwich. Keepin’ me up all damn night…” she mumbles as she trails to the fridge for a soda.
She makes me laugh with her little ways of being angry with me, mumbling grumpily around the kitchen.
“You slept,” I remind her.
“Yeah, I had me a good restful sleep. It was especially relaxing when your psychotic boyfriend nearly strangled me to death with his clod-hopping emo boot,” she scoffs.
Chocolate milk spews from my nose at her version of the situation. As un-funny as that should have been, I can’t help it—it was hilarious.
“Emo boots? That’s not nice. He doesn’t have that gay fashion sense like you do.” I giggle.
“I don’t think any brand or style of boots would have looked very flattering on my neck. Just Saying.” She struggles to find my humor.
“I’m sorry. What he did was not okay, but you did provoke him, Heather. He warned you.”
“Touché.” She grins. “I couldn’t help myself. I still feel like he stole my ice cream cone while I wasn’t looking. And I wasn’t lying, I do like your curves. You’re like a super-hot voluptuous vixen. Call it as I see it.”
“Well, just don’t CALL it in front of Nick. He’s jealous and he has major self-esteem issues. You aren’t fooling anyone—you knew exactly what you were doing. For future reference, in case you ever need to know, everything that happens in the dream state is illusion; if you can’t breathe, it’s because you’re tricking yourself into holding your breath.”
“I don’t get it. I wasn’t holding my breath. He was choking me,” she responds defensively.
“I know that’s how it seemed. He did have his foot on your throat, but he had no real control over your body; you were dreaming. He fooled you into believing you couldn’t breathe, so you didn’t breathe. Understand?”
“If that’s true then how did you dream that Little Monster into your womb?”
The question really hit me like a slap in the face. She is so right on with her words. Knowing fully that I had not slept with anyone at all other than Nick made it very simple to accept and to believe, but facing the fact that reality is exactly what I just stated to Heather, brings up a very real question. I dreamt making magic—making love—with Dominick. It was real but only in my dream. How?
“Good question, detective. Do your job and figure it out.” I smirk, still pondering it myself.
“I might have to dig around a little to find out. Do I have permission to investigate the scene of the crime?” She winks.
“Pervert.” I laugh out loud.
“Can’t blame a girl for trying, right? Speaking of work though, I am taking over the investigation with that phone call. We really need to find out who Lana was talking to that day. It’s driving me crazy,” she says with a mouth full of peanut-butter–bread cement.
“I thought you were the one handling it to begin with?” I question.
“Well, I was but Mom thought it would be better if she took it over so I could focus on keeping an eye on you and trying to find Nathan Manning. She hasn’t had any luck sorting through the records so I’m going to grab them from her place later and start sorting through them myself this afternoon while you’re having your massage session.”
“Good. I’m ready to get back home. Aren’t you?” I ask.
“Definitely. I miss the memories we have there; even though they’re few, they’re great.” She blushes.
“I agree—very good memories. Now, I’m going to take a bath. Leslie will be here in a couple of hours for my massage and I want to be nice and relaxed.”
“Sounds good. I’m going to run downstairs and get those papers from Mom while she’s out. I’m not going to say anything about looking into it myself. I don’t want her to be insulted.”
“Gotcha. Mum’s the word,” I comment.
“Exactly.”
The warm water creeps up the side of the tub, threatening to spill over—just how I like it. Steam rises above like the fog I saw the first night I moved here, the first time I saw Nick from my window, standing against that dead tree, watching me with so much passion. I was so allured by him and yet so frightened simultaneously. He was so shocked to see me there, so shocked he was seeing me in person for the first time. The thought warms me like a blanket fresh from the dryer. I love the way he loves me; obsessive or not, it’s entirely captivating, capturing—complete. Everything has happened so fast: Dominick, Lana, Peyton—the baby. It’s like some insane whirlpool of chaos. Since running into Peyton today Lana has run through my mind so many times. I think back, wondering if there is something I could have done differently, or said that could have helped with this situation. I’m not daft enough to think that I could have prevented it—I never even saw it coming—but something keeps triggering an odd feeling. Something is itching beneath my skin and I can’t figure out why. Something—something important is nagging at the surface of my brain, waiting for me to connect it. But what?
I shrug the feeling away, hoping it won’t ruin my chances of enjoying my massage. Heather has me so spoiled I don’t know how I ever got along without her. At first I felt like a freeloader, but now I see how happy it makes her to take care of me and I wouldn’t deny her that. As odd as it sounds, if taking care of me is what makes her smile, then we are both two very happy people.
I slip into my favorite black spaghetti-strapped camisole and tight-fitting pair of yoga shorts and lie down on the bed waiting for Leslie to arrive. She usually sets up a table that is designed for pregnant women. It dips in the center as to allow belly space to droop down, as well as a face hole so even fully-pregnant women can comfortably lie on their stomachs to receive a full massage. She said we might learn how to use a yoga ball today, which I am actually pretty stoked about. I’m familiar with them, but I don’t know if balancing will be as simple with a bowling ball attached to my abdomen. She said it’ll be a breeze though; she is very reassuring in most of my concerns, and to be so young she’s very well informed.
Aside from business, we have started developing a friendship, which has been great for me. She is a very nice girl, and we chat about pretty much anything. I love having her here. I‘ll admit, I’m seriously jealous of the perfectly straight dark brown hair that looks great even in a simple pony tail. She never bothers to wear anything aside from black yoga pants and a white t-shirt, but somehow she makes it look amazing. She is quite curvy yet still very appealing to the eye. I like the relaxed and confident vibe she gives off; it makes her super easy to converse with. Even if a massage weren’t involved, I think we would still have a great time. Like clockwork, she knocks at the door promptly at three o’clock.
“Come on in. I’m decent,” I call.
She walks in and begins setting up her space as I fill her in on how great I finally feel. Now that the nausea has subsided, I feel like I could do jumping jacks all day long. I haven’t felt him move yet, but she informs me that it is on the very near horizon. She nearly squeals when she finds out I am having a boy.
“Yeah, I pegged you for a boy breeder.” She smiles. “Although, I’ve been fooled before.”
“Do you have any kids, Leslie?” I ask.
“Nope. I don’t even have a boyfriend, so what’s that tell you?”
“It tells me that somebody is missing out. Why not?”
“Um, I don’t know. I haven’t really found anyone who struck my chords, you know?”
“I hear ya’! I was the same way. I dated, don’t get me wrong, but nobody really did it for me. I was busy with school and my nephews so I never really made a boyfriend a priority.”
“Aren’t you and Heather, you know, a couple?” she sheepishly asks.
“No, we are friends—best friends. I’m in a relationship with my son’s father.”
“Is she dating anyone?”
I sit up slightly, turning my head towards her. Judging from the tone in her voice she seems happy to realize Heather and I aren’t a couple.
“Nope.
She is fully available.” I smile.
She blushes and turns to grab another palm full of the spearmint oil I requested on her first visit.
“Oh,” she simply replies.
I don’t push the conversation any further, as she seems really shy about this topic, much like Heather. I detect a definite note of interest and I make a side note to mention her to Heather later. Naturally, they’ve interacted, but not much. A little more exposure might spark something good.
After an amazing hour of relaxing muscle stimulation, I’m ready for my afternoon nap. I’m light as a feather as I walk Leslie to the door.
“Thanks, Leslie. See you next week.”
She smiles and looks at the dining table where Heather sits, wearing a navy-blue polo, a crisply wrinkle-free pair of jeans, and dark-navy converse.
“Bye, Heather,” she calls sheepishly.
Heather barely looks up to my dismay as she calls back, distracted.
“Have a good one, Leslie.”
When Leslie has fully made it away from hearing distance of the door, I scold Heather.
“Hey, you! She was making an effort to speak to you; the least you could have done was looked up.”
She pulls her glasses off with a troubled look on her face, and it pulls me back a notch.
“One, not interested. And two, I have bigger fish to fry right now.”
“Wow, touchy. Is something wrong? Did you find something?”
“Um, I’m just a little confused. Just let me work for a bit, and I will get with you later.”
“Okay, hun. Can I make you some tea or something?”
“No thanks. A beer would be great though.”
“Sure, no problem. I will have to run to the store and grab some. You work and I will be right back.”
I scurry toward the door hoping she won’t notice my hasty attempt at a brief escape.
“I don’t think so, Kid. Just give me whatever alcohol we have in the house. You’re staying put.”
Dreamers (The Dreamers Series) Page 24