Chapter Twenty-One
Millie
Imanage to sneak back into the house without my parents being any the wiser, but falling asleep is another story.
I toss and turn, willing my brain to shut off and stop thinking about tonight.
But no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to rid my mind of the image of Rowan standing on that lawn, watching me and Beau drive off.
I shut my phone off as soon as I got home in an attempt to keep myself from obsessing over whether he was going to reach out or not. I couldn’t bear the thought of him not reaching out, but I also didn’t want to deal with it if he did. It’s a freaking conundrum for sure.
And what does that say about me? I shouldn’t care so much. So what if he texts or doesn’t text? It shouldn’t matter because we barely know each other, and he doesn’t owe me anything.
But even though I tell myself all those things, it still doesn’t ease my growing curiosity.
Maybe if I look and see that he did send me a text or call, I can finally fall asleep.
Then I think about the possibility that he hasn’t reached out, that he doesn’t care enough to make sure I got home okay.
My mind spins and my stomach swirls with anxiety.
Screw it.
I throw the covers off my legs and sit up. I put my phone on my computer desk, placing it far out of reach so that I wouldn’t be tempted to do exactly what I’m about to do. So much for willpower. I tread lightly over to the desk and reach to power the phone on.
But before I can, I feel a tingle start at the base of my spine. The hair on my arms raises, like it does when you’re cold. I run one hand over the raised hairs and then clamp my hands together to test if I’m just cold and didn’t realize it. I’m not.
The tingling intensifies as it travels up my spine, finally reaching the base of my neck.
My hand goes to the spot, rubbing it softly to soothe the sensation.
As it continues, I grow more and more wary.
My hand leaves the spot where the feeling seems to be concentrated and goes to my pulse at the base of my neck.
I close my eyes and count the beats, hoping it helps settle whatever this feeling is.
One. Two. Three. Four. I make it all the way to thirty, but the sensation hasn’t gone anywhere.
I try closing my eyes. I concentrate on my breathing, in and out.
That does little to quell the feeling consuming my entire body.
The hairs on my arms raise to a painful height, and tiny goosebumps spread across my skin at an alarming speed, almost like my body knows something I don’t.
Just as I have the thought, I feel a whisper of a breath across my cheek.
My breath catches in my throat and my whole being stills. It’s eerily quiet in my room when I hear it.
Millie.
My name whispered out in despair from someone other than myself. My head whips around, expecting to find my mother or father standing in my doorway. My heart plummets to my feet when I see my door still securely closed.
What the hell?
I start to back up when I hear it again. This time the unknown voice is louder and more forceful. Millie!
My hands slam over my ears as my breathing becomes more labored and erratic. Am I losing my mind? I spin in circles, looking for any possible source of the frantic voice, but I come up empty-handed.
I close my eyes and try to reason with myself. It’s just your imagination, Millie. There’s no one here with you. You’re overly tired and rightfully emotional over the evening. There’s no voice, there’s no one here.
Just as I begin to calm myself down, I hear it again. This time it feels like someone is screaming directly in my ear, the voice fraught with a desperation I’ve never heard before in my life. There’s no mistaking it, no denying its existence. I even feel the puff of air to accompany MILLIE!
I scream and stumble back, tripping over my own feet as I try to turn and run towards the door. I hit the ground with a loud thump, turning on all fours to try to escape. Just before I reach my door, it bursts open.
“What’s wrong?! What happened?” my father asks frantically. “I heard you scream.”
I scramble to my feet and throw myself into his arms, more shaken up than I’m willing to admit. I still can’t make any sense of what I heard, of what I felt.
He wraps his arms around me, pulling me into his chest. “What’s wrong?”
“I—” I stutter, unable to give voice to whatever the hell just happened to me because it can’t be real, right? It’s not possible.
“Did you have a nightmare?” he whispers, his hand rubs soothing circles on the back of my neck, replacing the foreign and now very unwelcome sensation from just moments before.
I nod and I lean into his touch, a comfort only a father can provide for his daughter.
I have no other way to describe what just happened, other than calling it a nightmare because it scared me to my core.
I feel safe and protected, and eventually my heart rate starts to calm. The goosebumps and tingling subside.
But her voice still echoes loudly in my head. Distinctly feminine. I can hear it so clearly now that my brain has had some time to process.
“Let’s get you back to bed.” He gently guides me to the side of my bed and pulls the covers back even more than they were. “It’s just a dream, sweet pea. No reason to be scared.”
I nod, feeling like a child that needs to be tucked in and for her dad to check under the bed for big bad monsters, I don't stop him when he pulls the covers up over my body and tucks them in just like he did when I was little.
I smile weakly when he leans down to give me a kiss on the forehead. “Sleep now, nothing’s going to get you with me here to protect you.”
His words are meant to be a comfort, and they are to a certain extent. I know he has no other reason to believe that it was anything but a nightmare, but I’m worried that it wasn’t just a dream. I’m worried it was real.
My hand reaches up and grazes an area on my cheek, the same spot where I felt breath skate across my skin, when for all intents and purposes I was alone. I can’t explain it, none of it, but I can’t shake the feeling that whatever it was, it was real.
“Sweet dreams.”
“Night,” I whisper. I’m still pretty freaked out, but I’m not brave enough to ask him to stay with me either.
I spend the rest of the night wide awake, staring at my ceiling and replaying that one word—my name—being called out over and over in my head. And no matter how hard I try to come up with an explanation, I can’t.