Part 22 (1/2)

”I'm not going to lie. She's not exactly thrilled you and I are hanging out. But for other reasons.” His voice moves closer. ”A blanket,” he says and I'm draped in soft, blue fleece. I feel safe. Like I'm wrapped on all sides in a secret version of Gray Porter's lime scented heaven.

”Truth is easier. But it's also a b.u.mmer...don't you think?” I ask.

”What do you mean?” His voice sounds tight like an over-stretched rubber band.

I open my eyes.

The room and he are slightly out of focus. I know I shouldn't answer him without planning what I should say, but right now I'm too tired to mask anything. ”Look. Until just a few minutes ago, I got to be the first girl Gray Porter ever brought home. It was awesome to get to be that girl, even for a moment. I didn't like to disappoint your grandmother, that's all. So...if I'm feeling bad that she knows the truth, you probably also feel like c.r.a.p right now.”

When I catch his expression he looks stunned, like I've dead-on read his mind. And that he might be worried that I'm feeling like c.r.a.p.

Quickly, I try to recant the implication that this has hurt me in any way. ”Don't worry about it. I'm good. Now I can imagine now how it will be when one day you really do bring a first-girl home. Gran will get over this. We all will, I suppose. It's such a strange situation. And bound to get awkward eventually, huh?” I add in a small, careless sounding laugh, only I suddenly want to cry so much my throat burns.

That happens too when I'm over-tired.

”Jess...no. You've misunderstood completely.” He drops to his knees beside the bed. ”Don't say that. I have so much I want to tell you. You are-I mean I want you to know-I told Gran that you're-” He looks away and runs both hands through his hair. ”How can I say this? I don't know where to start.”

I close my eyes. His face-the adorable chin divot-the intensity of his eyes is altogether too overwhelming from this viewpoint. ”Please, stop. I'm too tired to listen. I'm good. I shouldn't have made you feel bad about things. It's all right. Whatever you told Gran about me being crazy couldn't even scratch the surface of what's real about me. Not much gets to me. Crazy people have really thick skin.”

”I hate that you think that about yourself.”

”I hate that you never believe me.” I curl onto my side and face him. ”But...don't feel sorry for me. Not like the others do. Like my parents, like your gran just did. I couldn't stand it if you suddenly treated me like that.”

”Why?”

”Because you've always treated me...differently. Better. Like I'm just fine. Fine the way I am.”

”You are! Better than fine. And just the way you are. Jess, you're awesome. There's a lot you don't know. I need to tell you so much.”

”No. I just want sleep. If I didn't feel so positively like dying right now, I'd suspect you might be crazy like me. My head kills so badly. I think it's your fault. I know it's your fault. All that spinning me around the rink, feeding me only c.o.ke and cookies? It did me in. Stop trying to make me think, and let me sleep. Just a bit.”

He lets out a long, heavy sounding sigh. ”Sleep. It will give me a chance to figure out a way to say things better.”

He s.h.i.+fts forward onto his knees and moves my hair back from my brow and temples, letting his fingers trail into my hair, over and over. I open my eyes again at that, but I don't say anything because I'm afraid he might stop. It feels so nice.

He says, ”But when you wake up you have to let me talk. About the truth.”

I shake my head *no' and reach up and grip his forearm. Desperate. ”Gray...” I'm afraid to ask him this question but I have no other choice. My level of exhaustion is terrifying to me. I meet his gaze.

”What is it?” he frowns, concerned.

”You have to wake me up if you think I'm having a dream. Any dream at all. It's dark outside and I...you know. Please. It's important. Don't leave me here alone.”

He nods and his face goes pale. ”Of course. Don't worry.”

”Promise?”

He takes in a deep breath and gently takes my hand, giving it a squeeze. ”I'm not going anywhere. Because when you wake up, we are going to talk.” His voice already sounds too far away. My eyelids feel as though someone or something is turning a crank to force them shut.

”Just don't leave me. Please.”

Wait. Don't leave me. Please don't leave me here.

A white sheet floats suspended over me like a cloud...like a snowstorm, a shroud.

It descends over my body and I'm cold. Afraid. Alone.

Wait. Don't leave me. Please don't leave me here!

I fight and claw against the white but I can't move my arms or my legs. Terror sets in.

I do not want this. I do not want to be here. I shouldn't fall asleep. I think Gray's hand is still holding mine ...but the white has already taken over and I'm crying but I mustn't... I shouldn't... I need to stay in control.

Gray, please. Don't leave me. Please!

You're a very lucky girl. Lucky. Lucky girl.

Let's go. Dude. Nothing happened. Let's go.

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I can't untie the knot.

I'm sorry. Jess. I'm so sorry... Jess...

”I'm sorry. Jess. I'm so sorry. Are you okay?”

Someone's screaming and crying. Is that me?

I open my eyes. Gray is holding my hand and his eyes... his face... his voice are inside me and outside of me all at the same time.

Oh G.o.d. His voice. His face. Why is he here? He looks as frightened as I feel. I don't understand anything beyond the images pulsing through me. A silver belt buckle. Seash.e.l.ls in a crystal bowl. The line of my own blood seeping down my arm. I can't figure out what's real. I let my gaze travel past Gray's face to the room. I'm searching for my clock, my jellyfish lamp. My posters. The shaking sets in like I've been hit with a train.

Suddenly the sounds in the room are all too loud as I realize what's happening.

I'm crying uncontrollably. Awake in Gray Porter's room. He's holding my hand and I've had a terrible nightmare. I'm not okay.

I try to gain control of my body but it's too late. I'm crying so hard I can hardly begin the counting...one... two... three...

Everything goes black as the nausea sets in and my stomach rolls. I bite the insides of my cheeks as hard as possible.

Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

I haven't vomited after this stupid nightmare for almost two years. No way am I going to do it in Gray Porter's bed!

Nine. Breathe. Ten. Breathe. Eleven. Breathe. Twelve...

My focus clears a little when I reach 100. For the first time, I notice Gray's grandmother is standing in the doorway. Her face is distorted with anguish, fear and possibly repulsion.