Stolen Dreams by Christine Amsden

Author:Christine Amsden [Amsden, Christine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2014-11-15T07:00:00+00:00

18

FIRELIGHT DANCES ACROSS EVAN’S FACE AS he hovers over me. We are skin to skin, no space between us at all, but we are not yet one. That happens in the next instant when he drives himself into me, kissing me even as he pushes past the barrier of my inexperience. I don’t feel the pain, if there should be any, only the euphoric sensations of the kiss magnified by our intimate joining. Tears spill unchecked from my eyes. This is what I have dreamed about. It is what I have wanted for so long. I feel complete for the first time in my life. With Evan I am safe, warm, loved, and deeply, spiritually aroused.

“You’re mine,” Evan says. “Always and forever. Mine.”

This isn’t right. I try to back away from the scene I vaguely recognize as a dream. Abigail told me I could control my dreams with practice. I begin now, forcing myself away from my own surrender.

I don’t love him, I think. It won’t come to this.

The world goes black. Once again, there almost seem to be things behind the blackness, terrible things held back by the dream catcher. It only lets pleasant dreams through, so why the dream about Evan?

I begin to return to his bedroom, but yank myself away. Okay, so maybe it isn’t exactly horrible to contemplate, but it really, really can’t happen.

Blackness. Nothing. Void. It is as if there is nothing inside me but Evan.

No, there was Kaitlin. I dreamed of Kaitlin. I can go back to her.

I return to her side in the hospital and again experience the moment of joy when the baby slides into the world. It is still a boy, and he is still called Jay. But when I try to follow the dream, to find out what happens next, everything once again goes black.

* * *

When I woke, I almost chose not to record the dream again. I wanted to believe that Evan was somehow planting these ideas in my head, but last night I had slept under my own dream catcher, not his. If that wasn’t enough to convince me, his humiliating demonstration of my ability to fight off even intense mind magic remained fresh in my mind.

He would never see this journal, I swore. No one would. But I wrote in it, dutifully describing as many details as I could remember. Then I slammed it shut and shoved it in my pillowcase, simultaneously trying to slam shut the door to the memory of the previous night.

By the time I trudged out to breakfast, Madison was already awake, finishing a cup of coffee. That was surprising, since I didn’t expect her up before noon. Not only was she awake, but she was ready to leave.

“Where are you going?”

“To work, if I still have a job. Do you think being held hostage by your ex-fiancé is a good excuse for a no-show/no-call?”

“Don’t you think you should stay home today?” I asked.

She closed her eyes, and one hand flew to her abdomen, resting there for a minute that looked like pure torture.

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