A Murderer's Guide to Fake Dating

10. i dreamt of you

"A good idea," I repeat skeptically. Upon hearing the clear doubt in my voice, Jack pins me with a hard stare. "Okay, let's hear this genius idea of yours." 

"We should go on routinely dates," Jack suggests, and I stare at him. 

"That is a horrible idea," I say immediately. "I can already see it. On every date, we get on each other's nerves, and by the time it's the wedding, we've already clawed each other's eyes out." 

"Do I seem like I would claw your eyes out?" Jack asks impatiently. 

I ponder for a second. 

"No, but you would certainly poison my coffee and bring my dead body to Gabriel who will dump me into a random forest." 

Jack does not deny my statement. Still, he continues on. "Think about it. If we're forced to spend time together, we'll end up being closer." 

I grimace. I'd rather not spend the majority of my week going on dates with Jack, and that thought is clearly displayed on my face. 

He is annoyed. "There are so much worse things than going on dates than me." 

"Like what?" 

"Humiliating yourself in front of your co-workers, under the guise that you would get asked out," Jack drawls, folding one finger. "Being co-workers with your crush's crush. Cursing, killing, and burying your unrequited love." 

Heat burns across my cheeks and I feel humiliation sweep through me. "You are such an asshole," I enunciate. "Honestly, there are things worse than going on dates with you, Jack. However, I don't want to go on dates with you, you asshole." 

I storm away from him, brimming with fury. Somehow, I'm able to find my car and blindly drive to my apartment, though I'm practically seething. I jam my key into the keyhole and when it doesn't open upon first attempt, I let out a frustrated scream. 

My neighbor shoots me a terrified look, before darting into their apartment. They already think I'm slightly unhinged, but today I've really done it. They'll possibly avoid me forever, which is fine by me. Still, I'd rather keep the gossip at bay. 

I swing open my apartment door and my lonely room greets me. I release a sad sigh and flop onto my bed. My phone pings and I instantly snatch it up like a vulture. The text reads as follows: Sorry. 

Jack's apology is so crappy, I snort. I text back, You're so bad at apologizing. Do better. 

He replies instantly. Alright. Then, I'm sorry. 

You really just added an "I'm" in the beginning, I type. That's so much better. By the way, can we break up the second the wedding is over? Like, the moment we step out of the wedding, we break up? 

I wait for Jack's response with bated breath. He responds after a few seconds: My thoughts exactly. 

I feel more relieved and with the reassuring thought that Jack and I are on the same page, I drift away into sleep. In my dreams, I'm in someone's apartment. 

A man is standing in the kitchen, chopping some bell peppers. My mouth waters, as I spot the pot of soup full of potato, meat, and carrots. I'm seated around the dining table, which is perfectly set for two people. 

I rise from my seat and cautiously move towards the mysterious man. He hasn't spoken at all, but for some reason, my heart beats faster than usual. "Hello?" I say meekly. 

"You sound scared," the man gently chides, still preoccupied with chopping the bell peppers. "What's wrong?" 

"Nothing," I say quickly. "Where are we?"