Always There

Chapter Sixty-One

Chapter Sixty-One:

Bryce's POV

I bolt upright in bed.

It was just a dream, Bryce. Just a dream.

Except it wasn't.

Everything in the dream actually happened a few weeks ago—the teasing, the porn conversation, and the incredible sex—up until when Blossom started talking about the break up, as that obviously hadn't happened yet since she was still oblivious to the Brittany situation.

But Dream Blossom clearly knew about Brittany because after a little while she became disgusted with me and told me not to touch her anymore.

And then she threatened to murder me.

That's when I was able to realise that it was a dream, because my Blossom would never say anything like that to me or to anybody else she cares about, no matter how upset they may've made her.

"Fuck," I mutter to myself, sitting up in bed.

The curtains are drawn shut and since everything in my room is either black, grey, or dark-stained wood, the room is impossibly dark and I'm barely able to see a single thing.

I reach blindly towards my bedside table, switching on the lamp. It takes a few moments for the light to shine bright enough to illuminate the whole room, but once it does, I reach for my phone.

3:17AM.

With a groan, I bury my face into my hands. There's no fucking way that I'm going to be able to fall back asleep after that absolute nightmare.

Though my heart is racing, I'm not at anxiety attack level yet, thank fuck. It just felt so damn real. I suppose that that's partly because the beginning of it was real—a memory—but the end? All that bullshit about stabbing me in the heart?

By the time that part came around, I was already convinced that everything was real, no matter how outlandish the idea of Blossom murdering me is.

And now, my whole body is covered in a thin layer of sweat. I fell asleep wearing only a pair of underwear, but even that seems like too much clothing at the moment as the thin material is damp with sweat and clinging to my body.

I push my hair—also damp with sweat—back from my forehead with a groan. I can feel the affects of that sex dream even if it ended with murderous threats.

There's suddenly a series of loud knocks on my bedroom door.

I groan again.

"What the fuck do you want?" I call out across the room, still shaken and upset from the dream and not even remotely in the mood for human interaction at the moment.

Whoever is at the door is silent for a moment, and horror momentarily washes over me when I consider that it may be Elena on the other side.

I don't have to worry for long, though, as a male voice responds to me by saying, "Bryce? Are you all right? Can I come in?"

Ugh. That voice.

"Sure. Why the fuck not? I'm not going to be able to sleep anyway," I respond sharply.

Slowly, the door opens, and Mateo steps into the bedroom.

His hair is a blond mess atop his head, and he still hasn't shaved that terrible stubble off his jaw. He's shirtless, and wearing only a pair of flannel pajama bottoms.

When Mateo catches me staring, he looks down at himself and frowns. "Please don't mock me right now. I know that my body doesn't look like yours. I know that I'm sort of scrawny and should go to the gym a little more than I do. I'm not here for you to tease me, though."