Velvet

by Temple West

  Lots of them.

  I knew it was a dream. But I could feel the quilt around me and the marble beneath me and the thing crawling slowly and intentionally up my leg and it might have been a nightmare, but it was real. This was too clear, too vivid, to be anything else.

  Something moved out of the corner of my eye. It was a cockroach, and it crawled across the marble toward my shoulder. The thing on my leg wriggled its way under the fabric and over my knee. The cockroach disappeared into my hair, its antennae flitting against the back of my neck. I let out an involuntary sob, and then bit my tongue, breathing heavily as tears spilled down my cheeks.

  When I opened them again, worms were crawling over the sides of the marble. Huge, fat, mucous-covered worms. I had no idea how they were climbing up, but they were, in waves. The centipede thing had made it past my thigh and was currently wriggling across my stomach. I was going to puke.

  “You know, Caitlin, you’re not being very helpful,” my mother’s disembodied voice said from the darkness. I whimpered as a worm slid between my toes. “Why don’t you want to help?”

  “What do you want from me?” I screamed, and then closed my mouth immediately as a centipede scuttled over my jaw, running across my lips. I shook my head violently and it flew off.

  From the bright light overhead, a dark shape slowly descended. I watched in horror as it neared to within three feet and stopped, suspended by hundreds of IV tubes. Finally, I could see that it wasn’t an it—it was my mother, wrapped in a copy of the same green velvet quilt that was tucked around me. She was also quite obviously dead. As I watched, patches of her hair fell off and landed on my face. I shook them off violently, but strands got stuck to my eyelashes.

  Her jaw moved to form words. “You let my bones change, Caitlin. You let this happen.”

  “You’re not my mom,” I whimpered as the cockroaches began flitting against my arms and crawling against my rib cage. A legion of centipedes had found their way under the quilt and were congregating over my stomach restlessly.

  “You let this happen,” she said again, inhumanly loud and deep in the darkness. “You let the worms eat my body.”

  “I was sixteen!” I screamed up at her. “What was I supposed to do?”

  The plain, milky eyes flickered white and burned down in my direction.

  “Feed me.”

  The bugs went into a frenzy. I clenched my teeth together so hard my jaw ached. I would not scream.

  “You let the worms and the beetles and the crawling things destroy me. And now it’s your turn.”

  She smiled at me, sick and dead.

  And then her body disintegrated in a flood of centipedes, beetles, cockroaches, and worms. I barely had time to close my mouth before they landed, covering me in a seething mass so thick I couldn’t breathe.

  I came awake more quickly this time, and I think it was because I had literally been holding my breath while asleep. I shoved the blankets aside and scrubbed my hands over my body, trying to get rid of the bugs. I swore I could hear them scuttling against my sheets, crawling in my hair, my clothes.

  It took a full minute before I realized there was nothing there. I turned my lamp on anyway to check. Nothing. And yet I could still feel thousands of little legs slithering across my skin. I even picked up my pillow to make sure there was nothing behind it. I reached for my phone to check the time.

  It was two in the morning.

  * * *

  “I know girls don’t like to be told this, but you look tired.”

  I’d climbed into the truck and immediately used Adrian’s shoulder as a pillow, which was far more comfortable than it had a right to be.

  “I had another nightmare,” I mumbled. I could feel the muscles in his arm flex as he gripped the steering wheel.

  “Same dream?”

  “No. This one had worms.”

  “Worms?”

  I nodded against his sleeve. “And centipedes and cockroaches.”

  He grabbed my shoulders and pushed me up for a moment so he could tuck me under his right arm. I leaned the back of my head against his chest and almost zonked out right there.

  “Was this the same place?” he asked, starting down the driveway.

  “Nope.” I held on to Adrian’s arm like a second seat belt across my stomach.

  “Why didn’t you call?” He didn’t sound angry, just concerned.

  “What could you have done?” I mumbled, on the edge of sleep. “They’re dreams. I just have to”—I interrupted myself with a yawn—“to get through it.” I looked up at him. “But these aren’t just nightmares. I know they’re not real, because when I wake up, nothing about me has changed. But they’re real while they’re happening. I don’t know how, but they are.”

  I expected him to tell me I was overreacting, that I was being stupid, that I needed to calm down. But he didn’t.

  “Cait, if it happens again, I want you to call.”

  “Why?”

  “Just humor me.”

  “All right,” I mumbled, and turned my face against him arm, falling immediately asleep.

  I stumbled through classes the rest of the day and used Adrian as a pillow again during study hall. He insisted we spend the afternoon at my place and I didn’t argue (possibly because I fell asleep again once we got inside the truck). When we got to the ranch, I drank a couple cups of coffee and perked up enough to get through some homework. By the time dinner hit, the caffeine was wearing off; Adrian had to keep nudging me under the table to make me stay awake. As I said good-bye to him at the door, he gave me a hug and whispered in my ear.

  “Remember, call me if it happens again.”

  I nodded into his shoulder. He kissed my cheek and let me go, heading out the door. I went to my room, started a fire in the fireplace, checked Facebook, and played three games of Bubble Guppy Explosion.

  Finally, I ran out of energy. After brushing my teeth and throwing on some sweatpants, I stared at my bed. Somehow, it seemed ominous. I climbed unhappily under the covers. My room was warm, my bed was soft, my limbs were heavy.

  But I was terrified to fall asleep.

  It only felt like a few minutes later that I opened my eyes. The fire was still going, so I must not have been out for very long. I blinked several times, but I was tired and the room stayed dull and blurry. I closed my eyes again, shivering against the cold air.

  I reached for the blankets to pull them up further over my shoulders, but couldn’t find them. Half awake, I sat up and groped toward the end of the bed with my hand. But there was nothing there. Irritated, I finally opened my eyes completely, and realized that I hadn’t kicked my blankets off—my bed was made, and I was lying on top of the covers. I looked down.

  And discovered I was wearing the Green Thing.

  What the hell?

  I kept blinking, but my vision wouldn’t clear. I felt groggy, not just tired, like I was drunk—or drugged.

  I leaned a hand against my forehead, brushing a loose strand of hair—then frowned. My hair wasn’t in the usual, wavy mess; it was curled and hair sprayed, and longer than it should be. I blinked a few times, and my eyes felt odd, so I brushed my fingers over my lashes. They were stiff and gritty. I was definitely wearing mascara, maybe even fake eyelashes. I licked my lips and they tasted like cherry.

  Something was not right.

  The floor creaked. I looked up, heart hammering in my chest. The door handle twisted, squeaking the tiniest bit, sending a shock of adrenaline through my system. Slowly, barely discernible in the dark room, it opened.

  “Caitlin?”

  I stared incredulously at the figure in the doorway.

  “Adrian?” I whispered, trying to keep quiet. “What are you doing here?”

  He stepped forward into the firelight, looking concerned. “You called me.”

  I stared at him with the same confused expression. “I did?”

  He took a cautious step forward. “Yeah. You told me to come over immediately.”


  I shivered. “I don’t remember that.”

  “Cait, you’re freezing.” He came around the side of the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress, feeling my cheek with the back of his hand. “You’re like ice.” He immediately wrapped his arms around me and chuckled, which didn’t seem right. He wasn’t much of a chuckler. “You didn’t have to wait for me like this. I would’ve found you under the covers, too.”

  He rubbed my back lightly, comfortingly. I closed my eyes and let the heat from his body warm me as I tried to sort out everything in my head.

  “You know, I’m kind of surprised you called,” he said, voice a low rumble. “I mean, after the way you almost bit my head off yesterday, I didn’t expect this. But I’m … glad.”

  I looked up at him, intending to ask what he meant, but his eyes melted into a deep, warm silver, and I forgot the question. His fingers stroked up my spine. His other hand tilted my face. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against my neck. I frowned and he laughed softly. “You don’t believe me?”

  “I’m not beautiful,” I murmured. What was going on?

  Something. Something was definitely going on.

  He sighed a little. “You’re right, you’re not beautiful.” Then he ran his fingers lightly down my jaw, my throat, and traced my collarbone with his fingers, very slowly. “You’re absolutely”—he pressed his lips against my neck in a delicate kiss—“sexy.”

  I was about to say “Huh?” but when I turned my face in his direction, I turned right into his mouth. I was about to pull away and apologize, but he murmured, “I want you.”

  I sat frozen. He pulled back a fraction of an inch to stare into my eyes. All I could see was liquid, dancing silver, beautiful in the darkness.

  “You do?”

  He didn’t answer. Well, he didn’t answer verbally. My stomach burst into a thousand butterflies as he pressed his lips against mine.

  We stayed like that for a few moments: Adrian holding me, the flames leaping in the fireplace, the only sound was the beat of my own heart in my ears.

  Finally, I kissed him back.

  He immediately wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me closer. I ran my fingers through his hair, tangled them in the curls, crawled on his lap, and kissed him again. He leaned forward, lowering us against the bed, pressing his lips against my throat in a kiss. I lay perfectly still, afraid to move, when he brushed my collarbone with his mouth, fingers running lightly over the beading on the Green Thing—

  —which I had not been wearing when I fell asleep.

  “Adrian?” I murmured, fighting to hold on to logic.

  “Hmm?” he rumbled, hovering over my skin.

  I blinked, trying to collect my thoughts. Finally, I had it. “When did I call you?”

  I felt his hand trace the sheer lace pattern down my rib cage as he said, “Not very long ago. You sounded insistent.”

  I tried to concentrate, I did, but it was hard when the slightest touch of his hand sent shock waves across my nerves. I blinked again, fighting the haziness in my mind. “What did I say, exactly?”

  He traced the pattern down my waist and across my stomach. “That I should come over because you had a surprise for me.”

  His fingers had gone all the way down to my hip. I was rapidly losing my train of thought. “How come I can’t remember any of that?”

  His hand froze.

  I looked straight at the ceiling, feeling a cold, slimy fear percolate in my stomach, waking me up. “And how did you get in?”

  He sat up stiffly and I peeked at him. His eyes continued to burn silver in the darkness. “One way or another, Caitlin,” he said in the voice of my dead mother. “I will return.” I watched in horrified fascination as his two canine teeth descended into curved, snakelike fangs. “Give me what I want,” it hissed—whatever it was, it wasn’t Adrian anymore, or my mother, but something else entirely.

  But I whispered, “No.”

  He glared at me and then, without warning, snapped forward, fangs flashing in the firelight. I flung my arms up to protect my face. I expected the attack to continue until I was in excruciating pain, until I was dead or defenseless.

  But it didn’t come.

  Slowly, I opened my eyes and peeked toward Adrian.

  But he was gone.

  I let my arms drop to the bed. He was gone, and I was alone, pajamas twisted, the blankets everywhere. The only light came from the barely glowing embers in the fireplace. I let out the breath I’d been unconsciously holding and slumped forward, drawing up my knees, hugging my arms around myself.

  The nightmare was over.

  * * *

  Adrian put the truck in gear and started down the driveway, motioning for me to use his shoulder as a pillow, like I had the day before. I shook my head violently.

  “Caitlin,” he said slowly, “what’s wrong?”

  I stared straight out the front window. “Nothing’s wrong.”

  He reached a hand toward me and I jerked away.

  He grimaced, but didn’t touch me. “There was another one, wasn’t there?” When I didn’t answer, he ran a hand through his hair in an agitated gesture. “Was it like the first time?”

  I shook my head, but didn’t look at him.

  “Okay. But—I was in the dream?”

  My eyes watered. I nodded.

  He looked at me closely. “Did I hurt you?”

  My lips trembled and I covered my mouth with my hand and shook my head.

  I could feel him tense, and I wasn’t sure if it was because I was once again on the verge of tears or because he sensed that I was somehow evading his question.

  “What did I do?”

  I leaned against the door and covered my eyes with my hand, trying to hide the few tears that had managed to leak out. My throat felt thick and froggy and I mumbled, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on.”

  “Please, just let it go,” I whispered.

  “What could I have possibly done that made you this upset?”

  I huddled in my corner of the seat and drew a knee up, letting my tears soak into the fabric of my jeans. I was trying my best to be silent; my stomach actually hurt from trying not to make any noise.

  The truck slowed and stopped. I was not ready to go to school. I didn’t want to be around people. I opened my eyes in narrow slits and saw that we were not in the school parking lot. In fact, it looked like we were just pulled off to the side of the road.

  Adrian put the truck in park and leaned back.

  I didn’t want to be at school, but I didn’t really want to be alone with him, either.

  “Caitlin,” he said after a few moments. “I don’t know exactly what happened in your dream. Nightmare,” he corrected himself. “But I’m not going to apologize—because it wasn’t me. I’m not trying to be mean. I just want you to understand that whatever happened to you last night wasn’t real.”

  I knew it wasn’t real. It hadn’t actually happened, none of it had, not in any of the dreams. But in a sense, it had. Because I remembered it. I felt it. I lived through it as much as I was sitting here, living through this. But I couldn’t explain that to him.

  I heard the creak of the leather seat as he moved, and I tensed. When he spoke, his voice sounded nearer, but not threateningly close.

  “Please look at me.”

  It was a request, not a command. I pulled my sleeves over my thumbs and scrubbed my eyes again, glad I wasn’t wearing mascara, and then slowly turned toward him.

  “Adrian—it wasn’t worse than the others because I thought it was real. It was worse because I woke up and knew that it wasn’t.”

  He looked at me sadly. “I don’t understand.”

  I stared at a scratch on the seat instead of meeting his gaze. “I know.”

  He didn’t answer, just took my hand in his. I wavered, and then let my forehead fall against his shoulder. He carefully put his arm around me. I breathed in t
he scent of his jacket.

  “This has got to stop,” he murmured into my hair.

  I continued to breathe in his smell; familiar and grounding. He hadn’t smelled like this in the dream.

  “I can’t stop them.” I’d tried, every time.

  “You can’t,” he said after a moment. “But maybe I can.”

  I looked up at him.

  His eyes had been flaring a soft silver for the past couple minutes and I hadn’t even noticed. He met my gaze. “First, I need you to trust me. Completely. Can you do that?”

  He wasn’t trying to trick me or mess with emotions. I don’t know how I could tell, but I could. I nodded.

  “Good. Second, I need you to tell Trish that you’re spending the night at her place tonight.”

  I blinked. “Why would I do that?”

  “Because that’s going to be your alibi for coming to my house. Trish will cover for you.”

  I tensed. But he’d asked me to trust him.

  “Stay with Trish for the afternoon. Before dinner, I’ll pick you up, and Trish will tell her parents that you felt sick, so you went home.”

  I swallowed. “And then?”

  “And then you’ll eat dinner at my place. We’ll do some homework. And you’ll sleep in one of the spare rooms.”

  My stomach felt tight with fear. “And then what?”

  “And then, after you’re asleep, I’ll see what happens.”

  I paled. I didn’t like this plan at all.

  But he wasn’t finished. “If you seem to be getting too upset, I’ll wake you up and siphon off the fear and see if I can figure out where it’s coming from.”

  I liked that a little better. Actually, I liked that a lot better.

  “Okay.”

  He seemed surprised, but pleased. I glanced at the dashboard clock and grimaced. “We’ll be late.”

  “I’ll tell them we had engine trouble.”

  Adrian and Caitlin, boyfriend and girlfriend, showing up late, together. I’d get grief from Trish about it, especially when I told her what the plan was for the evening.

  * * *

  “You want me to do what?” I frowned at Trish. She’d heard me perfectly well. “All right,” she said, “but could you at least tell me why?”