Chapter 28
I found myself screaming in a dream. It was so real. It felt as if I was attempting to wake myself up. When I finally opened my eyes, I was gasping for breath. My mom sat on my bed, visibly shaken, her hands gripping mine. My dad stood at the doorway, his mouth agape in shock.
“Shhhh, it's just a nightmare,” my mom reassured me, brushing her thumb gently against my forehead. I struggled to steady my breathing.
“Elio, get some water,” she instructed my dad, who dashed downstairs. “What did you dream about, sweetheart?” she asked, her eyes wide with concern.
“I can't remember. I don't think I was dreaming at all,” I replied, racking my brain for any details.
“You were screaming and saying…” she hesitated, just as my dad returned with a glass of water.
“Drink this; it will help you feel better,” he said, worry etched on his face.
“What did I say?” I asked, intrigued.
“Nothing, dear. It was just a nightmare. Everything's fine now. Do you think you can go back to sleep? You still have a little while before morning,” my mom said, kissing my forehead before standing up. I nodded, pulling the blanket over myself.
They left the room, but sleep was far from my mind. I was restless, desperate to recall the dream or perhaps a memory. I heard my parents talking, but the words were muddled.
I rose slowly, trying not to make a sound, and tiptoed to the door. I managed to crack it open and crept toward their room. Dropping to my knees, I leaned in close to the space beneath the door to listen.
“What do you want me to say? I don't know,” my mom’s voice floated through.
“It's been years, and it's always the same,” my dad replied sharply.
“I thought it might eventually fade away. I have no idea what's going on, do you?” my mom questioned.
“Of course not! If I knew, we wouldn't be dealing with this,” my dad snapped.
“What do you think it means, the things she's saying?” he continued. “Maybe it's something she saw in a movie?” he suggested.
“A movie? Are you serious? For years? Every year at this time she has these nightmares. And you know what this time is—when she didn't speak for four months. It has to be something deeper,” my mom insisted.
“Then why not just ask her?” my dad countered.
“Don't you think I've tried? She says she doesn't remember,” my mom’s frustration was evident. “Enough. We'll talk more about this tomorrow,” she concluded, and I heard the bed shift. I quickly retreated, slipping back into my room.
Honestly, I had no more interest in delving into whatever past experiences lingered.
I was content, experiencing something new and falling in love.
No childhood trauma could overshadow that joy.
It didn't matter whether it was a bully or a harsh teacher; their actions were behind me, and I had no wish to revisit them.
As the sun rose, I made my way downstairs, brewed a cup of coffee, and wrapped myself in a cozy blanket before stepping outside. I felt the urge to enjoy my coffee outdoors.
The air was crisp and invigorating, and a serene silence enveloped the surroundings, broken only by the distant calls of birds.
This was the hour when nature felt most tranquil, as day and night engaged in their graceful dance, with night slowly surrendering to the light.
I took a deep breath, inhaling the familiar freshness.
My longing to escape to a bigger city overshadowed my awareness of what I would be leaving behind. Wherever life took me next, I knew I would miss this place more than I could comprehend at that moment. Morning fully arrived, and so did the promise of a thrilling new day.
In the afternoon, I was set to meet Zane after school. He promised a surprise, and I was certain I would love it.
I got back inside, brushed my teeth, and dressed.
Heading downstairs, I planted kisses on both my mom and dad and snatched a chocolate croissant that Mom had baked fresh to lift my spirits after last night.
Spring was claiming the surroundings, coloring the trees and brightening my mood along with the landscape.
I had art lab for the last three periods, and as I was sitting at my desk, I saw Zane waving at me from outside the classroom door. I asked to go to the restroom and slipped out. This time, I took his hand and led him to a secluded spot for a quick kiss.
“Do you remember our plans today?” he grinned, showering my face with quick pecks.
“Of course I do!” I teased back. He was so beautiful I couldn't help but stare.
I touched his short hair, wishing it were longer so I could grab it.
His amber eyes were like shiny stones, hypnotizing me, making me look into them; his dimple, his coral lips, and even the small mole under his eye were like magnets bringing me closer and closer. And closer—
“I'll be waiting for you after school,” he said, gazing deeply into my eyes, as if trying to capture my essence. It sent shivers down my arms. I nodded, and we shared a few more kisses before parting ways.
When I returned to class, a smile was plastered on my face. Only Emily seemed to notice.
“Someone's glowing,” she teased, a sly smile spreading across her lips.
“Shh!” I whispered, trying to hide my embarrassment.
“Should I get the champagne ready then?” she continued, not letting up.
“Ugh, seriously? Stop it!” I insisted.
“What are your plans later?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.
“I'm not sure,” I blurted out.
“I think I might have an idea,” she winked, clearly enjoying herself.
“If you don't quit it right now, I'll switch seats!” I warned, my tone growing serious. She raised her hands in mock surrender.
The final bell rang, and we stepped outside. I spotted Zane, clad in just a white t-shirt despite the still chilly air, sporting a pair of sunglasses.
“He looks hot,” Emily admitted playfully. I smiled and said goodbye to her. As I approached Zane, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and gave me a quick kiss.
“Hey there, let's go! I want to show you something,” he said. We strolled for about 15 minutes until we reached the town center, where he pulled out a key and unlocked a door on the first floor of a building.
“What's this place?” I asked, suspecting it was his apartment.
“You already know. Come on in,” he teased, a smirk dancing on his lips.
The door opened, and a small open-concept kitchen to the left extended to a cozy living room. To the right, stairs led to the upper floor. The decor was modern, with neutral tones and minimalistic furnishings—just the essentials.
As we walked down a narrow hall with four doors, he opened the first one to reveal a small queen-sized bedroom: his father's. It was basic, containing only a bed, a dresser, and a nightstand.
The second door led to a bathroom with a shower, and the third, which he skipped over, was V’s. I was relieved not to see it. Finally, he opened the fourth door, revealing his room.
It was larger than his dad’s, with light-brown parquet flooring, white walls, and a beautifully crafted wooden ceiling adorned with an elegant chandelier. A king-sized bed with an array of six pillows covered in dark brown, beige, and light grey linens stood in the middle of the right wall.
A large window with sheer white curtains allowed soft light to filter in. Across from the bed was a 65-inch flat-screen TV and a PlayStation, with shelves filled with books lining the walls and a cozy desk in the corner by the window.
I noticed another door next to a tall wooden closet on the opposite side. Curious, I opened it to find a spacious bathroom featuring a large white tub surrounded by large dark brown tiles that reached the ceiling. The square mirror seemed even bigger than a TV.
“You have a tub? I wish I had one!” I exclaimed. “You must spend a lot of time in here.”
“Not really, I prefer showers. I think I've only taken a bath here once or twice,” he replied, trying to recall.
“Seriously?” I asked, incredulous. He shook his head. I stepped back into his room, which was tidy and devoid of any personal touches. “Who cleans this place?” I inquired, unable to imagine V taking on that task.
“I do,” he replied, raising an eyebrow at my surprise. “Well, at least I did that before you came over,” he chuckled.
“So this is where you live?” I asked, taking in the lack of personality in the space. It felt lifeless.
“Actually, we rent this apartment. It came fully furnished. My dad works nearby, and the commute was a hassle, so we stay here during the week and go home on weekends,” Zane explained.
“And at home, do you have a big bed too?” I teased, smirking.
“Actually, I do. I like having plenty of space,” he said, his words compelled me closer as I touched his forearms. His fists tightened, and I noticed goosebumps appearing on his skin. He remained still as I continued to run my fingers along his arm.
“You've never shared the stories behind your tattoos,” I remarked, tracing the intricate designs on his forearm.
“Would you like to see them?” Zane asked softly, and I had to swallow hard before nodding in response. Without a moment's hesitation, he lifted his t-shirt, revealing his bare skin in an instant. I couldn't help myself; my hand moved instinctively over his tattooed body.
I felt his muscles tense under my touch as I traced the patterns from his arm to his shoulder, gliding across his chest and sliding down his toned abdomen to his waist. I then shifted to his back, following the curve of his spine.
I was mesmerized by the artwork—a stunning hourglass cradling a tree within it.
“Do they carry a specific meaning?” I whispered, struggling to keep myself from leaning in closer.
“Yes, they do,” he replied, allowing me the time to take in the details.
“It symbolizes the cycle of life and the inevitability of change, as well as the balance between life and death.
We don't own time; it's given to us in limited amounts, and we should cherish every moment,” he explained, his words carrying the weight of deep contemplation.
“What about this crack on your right side?” I inquired.
“That one means that life is beautiful and flourishing, but it is also fragile and subject to breakage,” he replied in a gentle tone. I shifted back to his arm, where another tattoo depicted a clock, a skull, and fragmented pieces.
“And this one?” I asked, my fingers dancing over the ink.
“Similarly, it speaks to time, the inevitability of death, and the complexity of life's experiences,” he said, following my fingers with his gaze.
“And the lightning bolts?” I continued, tracing my way to his shoulder.
“My life took a dramatic turn after my parents separated. I had to quickly adapt to those changes, and V’s transformations also played a role in my decision to get these tattoos,” he shared.
As my hand glided to his waist, where another lightning tattoo was freshly inked, he spoke again.
“And this one is for you. You struck my life like lightning, shattering my world once more.” He searched my eyes for a reaction.
My mouth went dry, my heart raced, and it felt like it was about to leap from my chest. “The word 'hope' was my final addition. It carries many meanings—rising from challenges, resilience, healing, dreams, and aspirations. And… you… you are my hope for the future,” Zane said, his voice thick with emotion.
We both felt it—the intensity of our connection.
His desire solidified before me. In an instant, he swept me off the ground, our bodies colliding as I wrapped my legs around his waist. He lowered me onto the bed, positioning himself above me.
At that moment, I craved everything; I wanted to merge with him completely. The overwhelming hunger for him crashed over me like a powerful storm wave, leaving me breathless and weak.
Every muscle in my body tightened with impatience. I yearned to remove any barrier that kept his hot, heated skin from touching mine. Just as I thought my desire would be fulfilled, the doorknob turned, and the door swung open wide.