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Taking a deep breath, I let out all of my shadows that have accumulated over the past few months.

“I’ve been having dreams,” I breathe. “They’re more like nightmares. Realistic nightmares about…” I pause, wondering how much I should truly divulge. “They’re about us and they’re so unnerving.”

Miles rubs my arms, providing a comforting touch. He says nothing, but nods, urging me to continue.

“Recently, I’ve been having a recurring scene where I am tied up in some dark room with some stranger attacking me. And you—you are there—but you just stand in the corner. I beg you to help, and you just…” I take a breath, tears beginning to well behind my eyes. The flood of emotions come back as I recount what little details I can remember.

“You just stand there. You do absolutely nothing while this man defiles me. It makes me feel so helpless and alone. I woke up in a panic this morning, again. Obviously, it wasn’t real, but these dreams. These nightmares…”

I pause.

Taking another deep breath, I try to regain my composure. The knot in my chest constricts what little air I can drag into my lungs. It feels like I’m going to implode from lack of oxygen.

“These nightmares are getting worse and I don’t know how to make them stop.”

Miles taps my forehead, smirking at my ridiculousness. “That mind of yours?—"

I giggle weakly, a single tear escaping, batting his hand away.

“Yeah, what about it?”

Miles’ smile falters, the mask on his face breaking slightly, but he quickly snaps it back into place.

He might not think I notice, but his shifting moods, first at dinner and now this, are becoming much more apparent.

He cups my face in his hands, using a thumb to wipe away the stray droplet.

“I think maybe you need to read less of those crazy books before bed,” he teases. “One of these days, you’re going to think you’re living those horror stories.”

Miles grabs me by the waist, walking me backwards across the kitchen until my bare ass touches the counter’s edge. Scooping beneath my thighs, he lifts me up onto the countertop, causing me to squeak from the sudden movement. He spreads my legs wide, nestling himself between them. Rough hands travel the length of my thigh, warming my skin further. A red flush overtakes my usually pale glow.

Miles tips my chin up, bringing my attention to him. “I would never do anything to hurt you. You know that, right?”

I nod reassuringly. Of course, I know that.

Yet, a pang of uncertainty sits in my chest, deep and heavy, where all my love and devotion usually calls home. A kernel of distrust worms its way into my tender heart.

Miles has always been a man of his word, though.

I need to trust him.

I do trust him.

It was just a bad dream. A nightmare.

And nightmares never come true.

8

“Remind me to never allow you to pick the fitness class again,” Brooke whines, leaning so far back onto the bench in the locker room that she’s basically laying down. Sweat glistens off her exposed arms and stomach, a result from the grueling Pilates class we completed. The class was namedStrength & Stretch. It sounded fun and relaxing. How was I supposed to know that they would find the deepest muscles in your body that are never used and burn those babies into oblivion?

I tap the four-digit code into our locker and swing the door wide. I’m greeted with the succulent smell of Brooke’s perfume wafting from her gym bag. Even working out, this girl knows how to keep all her items in beautiful-smelling condition. I, on the other hand, feel like a hot bag of garbage and probably smell the same.

Ripping my sweat soaked t-shirt over my head, I discard it in the locker.

“I assumed by the name that at least half the class would be relaxing. How the hell was I supposed to know the instructor was a sociopath?”

Brooke throws her arms into the air, swinging them around. “By reading the description! It quite literally says, ‘sweat until your limbs turn to noodles and stretch to relieve tension.’”