Ash

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"I love you." His voice is like a masseur's touch: sweet, gentle, caressing to every sense. "I never stopped."

"Liar," I hiss at him. "You can't be here. Just leave!"

"Please hear me out."

"Leave!" His hands are on me in an instant, struggling against my fighting arms. They're thrashing, hitting, pushing as wildly as they can but to him all my efforts are equivalent to the struggles of a child. The more I resist the weaker I get, and the stronger he becomes, till I am locked in his formidable arms, and instead of fighting I find myself sinking, sinking into him...

There's panic on the edge of my consciousness. I sit straight up. Something is wrong. Something is fundamentally wrong. I don't dream about him. I haven't in ages.

I hold my hand to my hot forehead. Beads of sweat have gathered across it. My heart is pounding. What is wrong with me? I didn't have a nightmare. The dream wasn't even scary. Why am I so agitated?

Because you shouldn't be dreaming about him. The voice of reason in my head whispers. You should never dream about him. It's a taboo.

But I wasn't trying to dream about him. It isn't my fault, I reply her.

Yes it is, because it's proof. Proof that you've been thinking about him for the past five weeks. You haven't stopped.

I inhale a breath and let it out. She's right. She's so right. Ever since that day I saw him in the park he's been hanging on the recesses of my mind, but I was sure I had kept him there. I was wrong. Now he's jumping out of my thoughts and into my dreams.

I dismiss my alarm a minute before it rings. Rogue is curled up by the side of my bed. My window is shut and locked, and the heat is up enough for him to sleep comfortably without a blanket. I still can't figure out why an owner would teach a dog to open his doors. What about privacy? And with the rate at which he learns new things, I still keep one eye on him when he's alone to see the extent of all he knows.

A shadow flickers in the mirror, and I start. It's gone. Post dream vestiges, I assume. I really need to get out of this room soon.

Aunt Jenny is still asleep today, or upstairs, at least. It's unusual, she's been up before us everyday for the past five days. Perhaps she's finally learning the meaning of rest. A door bangs upstairs and Rogue lets out a loud bark. I groan. What's he barking for this early morning? He's going to wake up Aunt Jenny. I march upstairs, irritated by the continuous yapping.

"Stop it!" I scold him as I enter. I freeze. On my pillow. White and red roses. A bouquet of them. I pick it up. Seven in the bunch.

I approach my window. It's still latched from the inside. When was he in here between now and five minutes ago, and how did he replace the latch if he left through the window?

"What are you so happy about?" Danny comes in talking to Rogue, but his grin freezes and falters when he sees the bouquet in my hands.

"He sent you those?" His tone has quickly hopped from cheerful to teed off.

"Uh, I think so."

"You think?" He puts on his skeptic's mien.

"No. I mean, yeah. He did." It's better not to ignite any further suspicions. I'm already confused myself as it is and it would be pointless to confuse him too.

"This morning? How'd he get that delivered so early?"

"He brought it to me himself." I wish. If only he had...