3. June #3
"My grandad gave it to me when I was ten. That was shortly before he passed…"
“I’m sorry,” I mumble.
“He was sick.”
“I’m sorry,” I say again, as if the second time will somehow make the words actually mean something to him.
“He told me to hold onto it for him. He was paranoid at the time—used to go on about someone rummaging through his things. Pretty sure he was just losing his mind, ya know?”
“Mmhm,” I mutter to keep him talking.
“He wasn’t always like that. We used to have a blast together.
He’d take me to ball games…basketball and baseball.
Although, baseball was both our favorites.
” He hesitates but continues, “I looked forward to those games with him.” Simon laughs like he’s recalling a memory.
“We’d get hotdogs first. Without question.
And then we’d get the biggest bucket of popcorn. I’d nearly puke from eating so much.”
“I love popcorn,” I tell him.
“And if I wasn’t already full enough, he’d buy me a gigantic cotton candy.”
“Which color?” I ask him.
“Blue, definitely blue.”
“We should go sometime,” I say.
“What?”
But instead of answering him, I accidentally drift to sleep.
I wake to the sound of screaming. My chest aches. My throat raw. I blink and try to catch my breath. My eyes finally focus, and I settle them on the man who’s holding onto me, nothing but fear and concern caked on his face.
“You’re okay,” Simon tells me. “You’re safe.”
I steady myself and scoot out of his grasp. “I’m sorry.” Bringing my knees up to my chest, I try to recall what I was even dreaming about.
Simon moves from the floor where he was kneeling beside the couch, and sits next to me while maintaining some space between us. “How long?”
I look over at him. “What?”
“How long have you been having nightmares?” His jaw tenses.
“Oh.” I hug myself tighter. “Um, like…forever? I don’t know. Don’t you have them?”
“Every night.” Simon twirls the ring on his index finger with his thumb.
“What about?” I ask him even despite it being such a personal question.
Simon sucks in a breath and exhales. “Well, for starters, you’re in a lot of them.”
I chuckle. “So, I’m not your dream girl, I’m your nightmare girl.”
He side-eyes me and shakes his head. "Something like that."
“Am I chasing you around with a knife Michael Myers style?”
“Something like that,” he repeats with a grin.
"And the ones I'm not starring in?"
“Uh…”
“You don’t have to, it’s okay.” I turn toward him and lean my head on the back of the couch.
“Promise you won’t laugh…or tell anyone?”
I hold out my pinkie toward him.
He locks his around mine and gives it a little shake.
Our hands lower onto the couch with our pinkies still intertwined.
“I can’t swim. Not well, at least…”
I look for any indication that he’s lying, that he’s fucking with me. “Really?”
Simon bobs his head up and down. “Yep.”
“Lots of people can’t swim,” I tell him in a weak attempt to make him feel better.
“Maybe lots of kids, but not grown adults.”
“Why didn’t you learn when you were younger?”
Simon looks away like he’s recalling a memory. Every bit of him seems to tighten with the recollection. “I just didn’t.” He takes his free hand and runs it through his dark brown hair. “And in these nightmares, I’m drowning.”
“That must be terrifying.” I’ve had my fair share of nightmares: being burned alive, chased, attacked, cheated on, assaulted in any way you can imagine.
I can’t say I’ve ever had one where I was unable to swim, though.
I guess our minds torture us with the things we’re most afraid of or insecure about.
“It’s not a good time.” He turns his head back toward me. “Enough about me though. Are you okay? You were screaming something fierce.”
"I don't even remember what it was." But that's a lie, because, with each passing second, pieces of it come into my head and taunt me with their memory. I won't admit that to him, though. Instead, I'll keep it bottled up and hope I never have to dream it, or live it, ever again.
“Even if you do…” Simon keeps his voice low. “I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“Wow, are you really insulting my abilities?”
“Speaking of your abilities. You said you were going to?—”
He cuts me off. “It’s in the works. Give me a minute to figure out the details.” Simon raises a brow. “Although, I may have to work it into your date schedule.”
I grin at him. “Am I sensing jealousy?”
“Kinda, but honestly, sounds like they’re the ones who should be jealous since I spend more time with you than they do.”
“Touché.”
He’s not wrong. Simon and I spend every day together, and aside from fucking and macking on each other, we do pretty much everything me and the rest of the guys do.
If they weren’t the ones who insist on keeping Simon around, I’d be concerned I was borderline cheating.
My gaze falls to our pinkies still interlocked. I release his and pull mine away, that line blurring too damn much for my liking. I would never do anything to jeopardize my relationship with the guys—but it’s difficult to deny the friendship building between myself and their enemy.