All your dreams will come to life. So will all your nightmares. ― After narrowly surviving the car crash that killed his best friend, Andrew King is left to grapple with his loss and nurse a traumatic brain injury. With his injury comes a crippl...
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"WHERE ARE YOU off to?"
Andrew cocked his head at her as he locked his door behind him. "You complain that I don't leave the house enough, yet when I do you are suspicious. I don't get it."
Janae laughed. "That wasn't suspicion, that was pleasant surprise."
He smiled at her. "Text me if Frito starts screaming again. Jesus, he's worse than a dog. Can't leave him alone for more than an hour before he starts having an existential crisis."
"He just loves you."
Andrew pulled up his sleeve to reveal a hash of scratches. "Oh, these are supposed to be markers of love. Wasn't aware."
She rolled her eyes at him, swatting his shoulder. "Go on, get out of here before you change your mind."
He pulled his hood up once he was outside, shielding his skull from the frost. Andrew walked quickly, his lean, muscular legs taking long strides to get him to his psychiatrist's office in as little time as possible.
He maneuvered the Monday morning crowd deftly, counting the steps he took as he did so. It was when he got to 863 that Andrew caught a glimpse of himself in a reflection store window, and stopped walking. He was dressed the same way he was in his dream — one that hadn't stopped plaguing him since the night he had it — down to the same belt. Andrew took a deep breath and urged himself to put away the paranoia. It wasn't like he owned many clothes, either. He willed himself to keep walking, resuming his count.
"Women In Charge annual leadership conference! Register here!" A girl on the other side of the street blasted, her counterpart handing out signup sheets. A muscle in Andrew's jaw tensed but he focused on his steps, willing his overactive mind to quiet for once.
The street was solid, as a street was apt to be. No books were flipping their own pages and everyone had a nice, intact face. Andrew sighed a small laugh at himself for feeding into his own absurdity, the chuckle dying on his lips as his eyes fell on her.
She walked with the same urgent gait, and like clockwork, slammed into the large man. An apology and she kept along her way. Andrew's heart went into overdrive, and he began to run.
He tried to make it to the crosswalk before realizing it could not wait. He dashed into traffic, weaving between the cars that were thankfully more or less still as they sat in a traffic jam. He scanned the crowd ahead of him for her, eyes seizing on the back of her head as she bobbed forward. Andrew sprinted forward, colliding with hurried students and professors clicking away on their cell phones.
"Hey!" He yelled, throat hoarse with exertion as he fought to be heard over the sounds of cars and pedestrians and Women In Charge members. "Stop! Stop!"
While she was hurried, she was no match for a Division 1 athlete's legs as Andrew closed in on her. He continued to shout but she wasn't there, not mentally, as she ventured deeper into the construction zone.
"Tumor!"
She whirled around as Andrew flew at her.
"Miss! MISS! Get out of the way!" A man in a yellow vest yelled, arms flailing.
Andrew looped an arm around her midsection, yanking her out of the way as a construction excavator flew past them, mere inches from connecting with her soft flesh.
They stood there in that position, intertwined as she collected her bearings. She turned her head to face him, fearful dark eyes engulfing his. The construction worker was yelling at them in the faint distance, but Andrew couldn't hear him as her face smoothed out, all of the fear seeping out of her features as a knowing look took its place.
