Adrenaline

36 | a night with MARS pt. i

I wake up in a frenzy with sweat dripping down my forehead and tremors ricocheting throughout my entire body.

It's a dream. The terrible, awful, nauseating image seared into my brain of Brendon's car flying around a corner, tyres losing their grip, and the car plummeting into a barrier is just a nightmare.

As labored breaths pour out of me, I try my best to forget the flash of red—the flags on their steering wheels and the blood gushing out of him—but it keeps coming back to me in alternating bursts of blinding light and endless darkness. Even when I rub my eyes and squeeze my temples and rip the covers off of me.

Before I realize what I'm doing, I jump out of bed and grab the nearest hoodie I can find, slipping it over my head as I run toward the door. I grab my hotel key and phone before rushing out of the room and down the hall toward Brendon's hotel room. Somehow, the two of us have managed to end up on the same floor again, except this time across opposite ends of the building.

While he had invited me to stay in his room for the night after how upset I was earlier, I'd opted to utilize the room I'd booked for myself. Truth be told, Lauren's comments weeks ago about my and Brendon's relationship still linger like salt in the wound, and part of me wants to preserve some distance between us. If only to play along with the illusion that she wasn't right in some ways.

Once I reach his door, I knock frantically, not caring if I'm being too loud or waking up his neighbors. Understandably, it takes a minute for him to come to the door, but once he does, I fly into his chest and wrap my arms around his body in an iron-clad grip. He can barely get a word out, trying to process what's happening. Why the sudden embrace at three in the morning? I feel bad. I do. He has to wake up early for practice. But I can't help it.

Brendon pulls us out of the hallway and into his room, closing the door behind us. "What's going on? Are you okay?"

When I pull my face back, wet splotches on his light grey shirt reflect back at me. I hadn't realized I was crying in the first place.

"I had a bad dream," I manage to croak out. "You were racing and you crash into the wall and...god....there was so much blood and I just—"

I can't get the rest of the words out. My body forbids me from doing so. But it doesn't matter because Brendon crushes me to his chest, cradling me between him and the wall. The proximity allows me to feel him, touch him, feel the beat of his heart against my chest. It affirms everything I saw was fake and he's real, very much here and alive.

"I'm here," he reassures me. "It was just a dream."

"I'm sorry," I groan, burying my face into his shirt. The soft material dampens under droplets of frustrated tears. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

Brendon smooths his hand over my hair. "Nothing is wrong with you. You're stressed out. These things happen."

"No, it's not normal." Pushing away from him, I pace into the hotel room. His eyes follow behind me lazily, careful to keep watch but laser-focused enough to make me squirm beneath his gaze. "How does one argument with my friends lead to me dreaming about my—you crashing in a race? Fucking hell. I haven't been sleeping at all."

Brendon, despite being flushed with worry, coughs up a laugh. "I think you just answered your own question," he says as he walks into the room and sits on the edge of the bed. "You guys have been ridiculously busy these past few months and you have a ton of shows coming up, not to mention a tour you're planning for next year. It's all adding to an already stressful situation and your mind is doing its best to keep up, but sometimes you just need a break."