Page 22 of See You in Your Dreams

My aunt prattles on about her most recent house call while she preps her tea. Apparently, she went to see a regular of hers to commune with the woman’s dead brother so she could fill him in on what’s been happening in her life and ask him for advice. The whole thing sounds gruesome and somewhat exploitative to me, but I don’t say so. Instead, I let her words wash over me, finding them strangely comforting even if I take offense to the content.

Maybe it’s because they help to distract me from my obsession with Dylan. And that’s honestly what it’s starting to feel like:an obsession. I’d told myself after he made that damn friendship pledge that I had to remain strong and keep my distance at all costs.

Yeah, what a fucking failurethathad turned out to be.

Rather than ignoring him, I’d invited him over to name my fucking cat. And the worst part? While I know Ishouldfeel guilty, mostly all I feel is a numb sort of relief at finally giving into the urge to spend more time with him.

A vision of Harvey, his face pale and eyes wide with horror as he stumbles away from me, flickers through my head, and I savagely shove it down. No way do I want to relive that horrible night. It’s just one more nightmare I wish I could forget.

I’m so wrapped up in my thoughts that I don’t notice my aunt’s return until she waves a chipped teacup in front of my face. I look up to find her studying me with a concerned frown.

“You sure you’re feeling okay, Ash? You look even paler than usual.”

“I’m fine,” I mumble, staring down at the cat curled in my lap. “Just worn out from school.”

She nods sagely. “Trust me, I can relate. I couldn’t wait to be done with all that nonsense—your mom and me both. Guess you take after us, huh?”

As usual, the mention of Mom sends a shiver of dread through me. Swallowing, I manage a half-hearted shrug.

Thankfully, Aunt Claudette doesn’t press, turning her attention instead to the kitten. “She’s getting so big and strong!”

“I’m pretty sure she’s the same as she was when we brought her home.”

“Not true at all,” my aunt says, scratching under the cat’s chin. “Just look at how much meat proper food has put on her bones.Another couple weeks and she won’t be scrawny anymore. I was thinking maybe Raven for her.”

I tighten my arms almost imperceptibly around the cat. “It’s Onyx.”

Aunt Claudette looks up at me, startled. “Oh. I hadn’t realized you’d already named her.”

A faint blush creeps over my cheeks. “A friend from school came over earlier. He actually came up with it.”

“Afriend, huh?” From the way she emphasizes the word with a smirk, I can tell she’s hinting at something more. That’s not the reason my blush deepens, however—or at least, not theonlyreason.

Finally decided to be my friend?

Shit.

When it becomes clear I’m not going to respond, Aunt Claudette turns her attention back to Onyx. “I like it. Seems appropriate for a survivor like this one. Did you know onyx symbolizes perseverance and determination?”

I shake my head, wondering if Dylan had known. Doubtful. Most likely, he’d just picked the first black rock he could think of that matched the cat’s sleek coat. I’ll have to make sure to tell him tomorrow. Or, you know, whenever I happen to run into him next.

“Of course,” my aunt continues thoughtfully, “some cultures also associate onyx with bad luck, claiming it can sap your energy and lead to bad dreams.” Her voice softens into baby-speak as she strokes the purring kitten. “But we don’t believe that, do we little one? No, of course not. You’ll be our good luck charm—I can tell. Ash? Honey, are you all right?”

My head feels light, the world spinning around me as my heart pounds.Bad dreams…Dylan couldn’t have known. It’s a coincidence, that’s all.

“Maybe you should lie down,” Aunt Claudette says, sounding worried.

She scoots back as I stumble to my feet, a displaced Onyx (bad luck) glaring up at me accusingly. “I…I’m going to head up to my room.” My voice sounds like it’s coming from far away, the words strange and foreign to my ears.

My aunt’s frown deepens. “Do you need anything? I’ve got some Tylenol and Sudafed in the bathroom. Or I can go pick up some flu medicine from the pharmacy on Wickermore.”

“No, that’s okay. I just need to lie down.”

Before she can protest further, I snag my backpack and bolt for the stairs, clambering up them and into my room in record time. Shutting and locking the door, I sink onto my bed and squeeze my eyes shut, draping an arm over my face.

It’s fine. Everything is fine. I have plenty of sleeping pills left. I won’t slip up again like I did with Harvey. Dylan doesn’t know anything and never will. Neither does my aunt. The name is a random fluke. Nothing more.

But no matter how many times I repeat the words, my frantic mind won’t accept them. The room around me fades, replaced by my much larger bedroom at the Ellingtons’ with its antique dresser, walk-in closet, and private bathroom. Not that any of those luxuries had made me feel any less trapped in a life I’d never asked for.