Chapter 25 #2
“Come on, baby, stop that,” my mother’s voice chides. “There’s no sense resisting. The only way you’ll find peace is to—”
“The only way I’ll find peace is by forgiving myself.
I’ve been holding onto the pain and guilt for so long that I pushed everyone else away.
But being alone is what really hurts everyone.
It’s why I only started to heal when I let Dylan in…
or at least let him force his way in. It’s why I wish I’d repaid Greta’s kindness better with the friendship she deserved.
” I suck in a deep, steadying breath and open my eyes.
“And it’s why it’s way past time I recognize that everything you and the others have been telling me is complete and utter bullshit. ”
I catch a glimpse of a gnarled creature nothing at all like the mother I remember, its gristly limbs and crimson eyes shrinking away from me as though burned by my mere presence.
Then in a flash of golden light, it’s gone along with the ancient labyrinth, depositing me back in my room where I began.
No sign of Harvey, thank God. Nor, unfortunately, of Dylan.
I stride toward the open door into the hall, raising my hand as I tighten my jaw.
This may not be my dream, but I’m still a dreamwalker, dammit.
It’s not too late to salvage this nightmare and help Dylan wake up. I just need to find him first.
Closing my eyes, I focus all my mental energy toward that very task now that I’ve temporarily silenced my doubts and fears. At first, I fear it’s still not enough, Dylan’s resistance to my interference still too strong.
Then, I feel something give way. I step through the doorway and open my eyes to discover I’m standing in the cramped kitchen at Dylan’s house. My heart leaps when I spy him stirring a bubbling pot on the stove.
“Dylan! Thank God, I found you!”
I rush to him and reach out, only belatedly realizing that this could be another trick—a dream incarnation of Dylan designed to torture me more. To my relief, however, Dylan turns and fixes me with an absent smile.
“Oh, hey Ash.” He gives me a brief squeeze and a peck on the lips before turning back to the stove.
I blink, staring at the back of his head. That’s…unexpected. I’ve never seen Dylan act so distracted around me before.
“Is…everything okay here?” I venture, glancing around for signs of anything threatening.
“Sorry, no time to talk right now.” He drops the ladle with a clatter and walks swiftly toward the living room. “Too many things to do.”
I hurry to keep up, my confusion mounting. “You know this is a dream, right?”
He plugs in a vacuum standing beside the wall and activates it, sweeping it over the carpets. “That’s no excuse to slack off!” he says, shouting to be heard over the vacuum’s dull roar.
“Dylan!”
I recognize Tommy’s voice, coming from the door to the garage. Dylan must’ve heard it too because he instantly switches off the vacuum and jogs to the kitchen. I continue to tail him, watching as he fetches a cold beer from the fridge.
“What the hell are you doing?” I demand, stepping in front of him. “Can you just stay still so we can talk?”
“In a minute,” he replies, stepping around me. “I need to get a few more things done first.”
I stand in the kitchen, staring after him as he enters the garage and hands his brother the beer with nothing but a grunt of thanks. Then, Dylan rushes past me back to the stove, continuing to stir. His frantic activity is beginning to give me a headache.
“This can’t wait,” I insist, grabbing his arm. “There’s something very wrong here. We need to—”
“Dylan! I need your help!”
This time the shout comes from deeper in the house. I hadn’t gone there the one time Dylan had me over, but I assume it’s where their bedrooms are.
“Just a sec, Pat!” Dylan calls. He gives me an apologetic look. “Sorry, Ash. I swear we’ll talk later.”
He tries to tug his arm out of my grasp, but I tighten my grip, firming my lips into a scowl. “No, Dylan. We’ll talk now.”
His eyes widen, his expression almost frantic. “Let go of me! I’ve got to go. Patrick needs me!”
Right on cue, his little brother calls again for help. Still, I don’t release my hold.
“I need you.” I wave my free hand about us. “None of this is real, Dylan. This is all some messed-up dream cooked up by your stressed mind and amplified by my power. I can wake us up, but only with your help.”
“You don’t understand.” His wide golden eyes bore into me as he continues to tug on his trapped arm. “I’m already behind enough as it is. Please, just let me go.”
I narrow my eyes. “No.”
“Dylan, sweetie?” His mom’s voice echoes from somewhere else in the house. “Have you finished cleaning the living room yet?”
“Dylan!” Tommy cries from the garage.
“Dylllaaan,” Patrick whines from his room.
The pot on the stove boils and hisses.
Dylan trembles, his muscles bunching, and for an instant, I think he’s about to take a swing at me. I brace myself for a fight, determined not to let him go no matter what it takes. I’ll drag him from this dream kicking and screaming if I have to.
Then, Dylan sags against me, any fight seeping out of him. His family’s insistent calls abruptly cease. “I have to keep working,” he murmurs defeatedly into the sudden quiet. “I have to.”
“Why?” I demand.
“Because it’s the only way to prove I’m not worthless!”
His raw-throated scream catches me off-guard. He takes advantage of my surprise to wrench his arm free, but he doesn’t retreat, bowing his head.
“Nothing I do will ever be good enough. I drove Dad away and Tommy hates me. It’s only a matter of time before you and Mom and Patrick realize what a burden I am, too.”
“You are not a burden.” I grip him firmly by the shoulders, imploring him to hear me. “You’re more than good enough just the way you are.” My insides squirm as I recall the oh-so-similar words my own demons had hurled at me. “We both are.”
“Then, why are you going to leave me, too?”
The whispered question catches me off-guard, wrenching at my gut.
I open my mouth to deny it, but wasn’t that precisely what I’d implied when I told him I couldn’t promise to stay?
For as long as I can remember, I’ve dreamed of getting away—of being on my own.
But staring at Dylan now, I realize that at some point, my dream had changed.
“No matter what happens next or where we end up, I don’t intend to let you go that easily. I’ll be by your side as long as you want me there. I promise.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Dylan nods, his arms winding around my back. We stand there silently for a time, holding each other close in the middle of Dylan’s imaginary kitchen. The room fades until we’re left floating amid a familiar rainbow sea.
“Thank you,” Dylan says quietly, not meeting my eyes. “For snapping me out of it back there. I…I’m not sure what came over me.”
I grimace as familiar self-loathing grips me. “It’s not your fault you were having a bad day. I’m the one whose fucked-up powers transformed it into a literal nightmare for both of us. This is exactly why I’ve avoided getting too close to anyone for all these years.”
“Hey, no.” Dylan grabs my hand, linking our fingers. “No more of that. We’re in this together now, whether you like it or not, remember? I have no intention of running away, and I won’t let you do so on my behalf.”
I take a deep breath, his comforting presence helping to halt my usual spiral of despair. “You’re right, I know you’re right. But old habits die hard. That way of thinking is what got me into my own mess before I found you.”
His fingers gently stroke mine amid the dancing sea of dreams. “What happened to you? Was it as ridiculous as my self-imposed chore-pocalypse?”
Swallowing, I haltingly explain my experiences in our shared dream. As I talk, his face pales, his smile fading to a look of pure horror.
“God Ash, that’s awful,” he says once I’ve finished, wrapping me in a tight embrace. A whirlpool of latent possibility spirals around us that I quickly calm. “And I thought my experience was traumatic. Jesus.”
“It’s not a damn competition,” I mutter, flushing slightly. “If anything, tonight’s proof that we’re both fucked up in our own ways.”
He snorts. “I won’t fight you on that one.” He’s quiet for a moment, his voice pensive when he eventually speaks. “I meant what I said before, about no more running. I think it’s time we both confront what haunts us so we can move forward. Together.”
“Oh, yeah?” I shake my head, the colorful lights flickering across my face. “And how exactly do you intend we do that—more dream therapy? Because I’m not sure I can handle it right now.”
“Nope. Our problems are in the real world, so that’s where we need to face them.
” He presses his lips together and sets his jaw, his expression firming.
“I’ve put off talking to my mom about my future long enough.
Tommy, too. Tomorrow, I’m going to speak to them about everything I’ve been going through—lay it all out in the open. ”
I nod slowly. “Sounds fair enough.” My trepidation spikes when he meets my eyes, a determined sheen in them. “And what about me? I can’t exactly confront my mom or Greta, and I’m not about to hunt down Harvey.”
“I think it’s past time you talk to your aunt,” he replies.
“It’s clear you blame yourself for what happened with your mom, but you were only a kid.
Maybe it’ll help to get the perspective of an adult who was actually there.
At the very least, it might help clear the air between the two of you so you’re not constantly walking on eggshells around each other. ”
My gut squirms at the thought of opening up to my aunt. Still, I force a nod. Dylan’s right—this shit I’ve kept bottled up all these years will keep bursting out unless I lay it to rest for good. Talking with Aunt Claudette seems as good a way as any to start doing that.
“I guess it’s settled then,” Dylan proclaims with a shaky grin, his own nerves plain on his face. “Tomorrow, we both face our fears.”
“And what about tonight?” I gesture to the proto-dream stretching around us. “Since we’re already here, we could try visiting somewhere else.”
He shakes his head. “Pass. I think I’ve had enough dreaming for one night.”
I bite my lip, studying Dylan as sudden heat ripples through me. “Well, my aunt did say she’d be gone all night. Perhaps we could wake up and find some other way to pass the time?”
Dylan seizes my lips in a fierce kiss, our tongues clashing as our hands grope for purchase wherever they can find it. I’m not surprised when the dream shifts around us, leaving us both stripped to our underwear. Dylan rolls his hips, rubbing against me and eliciting a moan.
“I think that could be arranged,” he murmurs, nipping my earlobe.
Never in my life have I been so eager to return to the waking world.