It’s okay Taylor. The deep, warm voice stops me.
I look up with my five-year-old eyes and see Ryder, large and protective, his intense green eyes full of concern, which is very addicting to be around. People don’t usually show concern for me. Anger? Yes. Disappointment? Yes. But not this concern that makes me feel warm inside.
No one’s going to get you here. Look around.
And I do. The fair is bright and colorful once again. It has lost the frightening dimensions. Families with kids are walking by, talking and smiling at each other. Ryder bends down and picks me up, so I ride his hip, and he shields me from the whirlwind of bodies and motion. We walk around the different booths. He grabs a cotton candy and hands it to me.
Don’t we have to pay for that?
It’s just a dream. Can you see that?
A dream? Happily, I take bites of it, not really paying attention to what he says, but he stops walking, forcing me to listen.
Does it still look scary? His deep voice has a surprising softness and patience to it that draws me in, allows me to trust him to help. I look around and see nothing amiss. No one is out to hurt me.
No. It’s just people.
So why are you so scared?
I can’t find my mom. She’s going to be mad and tell me what a bad girl I am for not listening to her and staying right there on the wall. Then she’s going to make me live with Grandma, and I don’t want to live with Grandma. She’s mean, I confided.
In dreams, we can do whatever we want, Taylor.
We can?
Are you really five years old right now?
I think about it and suddenly remember that I’m not five. I’m nearly twenty-five.
No. I’m not.
When I look down at myself, I’m magically standing on my own two feet with my adult body. It’s amazing. I look around, in control of my dream fear for the first time ever.
Wow.
So what really happened?
I stare at the wall, the beginning of the real-life nightmare I experienced that day, and shake my head. I’m not sure I’m ready to share yet.
It was a misunderstanding.
What happened to you?
Miscommunication, I reply, though the truth of what really happened flashes through my brain.
Eventually, the fair closed at ten o’clock, and the security guard took me to the police, who then tried to call my mother and grandmother. My grandmother picked me up, and when my mother got home, my grandmother tore into her. Here’s the kicker: my mother told my grandmother that I ran off and that she couldn’t find me.
So this dream is about being lost and abandoned?
Yeah. I’ll never forget that fear that I was never going to be found again.
I found you.
Thanks Ryder.
He looks down at my hand, the one still holding the flower, with an expression of confusion. Where did you get that?
This? I look down at the beautiful, iridescent bloom. It still has a glowing sheen to it. It was there next to me. Actually, it’s the first time I’ve seen it. It’s never been part of the dream in the past.
Strange. It’s almost like he says this to himself.
What is?
Nothing. If you don’t wake up now, you’ll be late for work.
Chapter Four
I sat up on the sofa with a gasp, looking around my apartment with frantic head swivels. After a few moments, I came back to my senses enough to recognize that I was home, safe and sound, and I was alone.
How fucking weird was that?
I took a deep, shaky breath and fell back on the overstuffed pillow on the sofa. The dream had felt so real, just like the sexual ones. My twisted psyche had dragged Ryder into this dream and made him a savior of some kind—therapeutically, that is. At least I hadn’t woken up from this particular dream crying, as I usually did.
A glance at the clock on the wall in the kitchen had me scrambling. I’d been sleeping for hours! Shit, shit, shit. And I still hadn’t cleaned up the glass in my car!
With barely any time to lose, I dragged on the black skirt from the previous night and grabbed a cap-sleeved white button-up that looked cute and complemented my figure. I had no time to blow-dry my hair, so it did this wavy, curly thing around my face. Quick eyeliner, mascara and lip gloss did the trick before I was out the door barefoot, carrying my heels by their straps.
I also brought along a dustpan and a plastic bag, but as it turned out, I didn’t need either. The glass was already swept out and a plastic sheet had been taped over the area where the broken window had been.
Awwww. How sweet. The door in my heart creaked open wider.
Thanks, Ryder, I thought to myself.
You’re welcome.
I was getting in the car when I heard that, or thought I heard that, and stopped midmotion. Standing back up, I took a look around, frowning as I tried to imagine if I’d actually heard something or if my brain was acting up again. Because really, if I’d actually heard something when someone wasn’t even there, that would mean I was hearing voices, right? Not good. Or that would imply that someone had access to my mind somehow, which is totally sci-fi and impossible, right? Probably, I was just imagining things, wanting Ryder to be there because he was a gorgeous, rugged mountain of tall, muscular and handsome, and I really liked kissing him. A lot.
Geesh. Imagine if he actually had access to my mind, with all the squirrelly stuff I had going on in there. I could barely stand to be in my own head without going tear-your-hair-out bonkers myself. Silently amused with the idea, I slid back into my car and motivated.
I got to work on time, thanks to Ryder saving me a step with my car. I was going to have to thank him for that. And it probably wouldn’t hurt to actually find out what his last name was, since he was living in the neighborhood, so to speak, and we’d already locked lips. Awkward. Hate that feeling! Experienced it in spades with my last, and only real, serious boyfriend back during my freshman year of college. I never got to have an orgasm with him the few times we tried, which just made it uncomfortable on so many levels. Only after we broke up did I do some physical self-exploration and realize that I could have an orgasm on my own.
The ride to the club was uneventful, and as I was about to exit my car I remembered something that had me diving into the ashtray by the radio. That special little piece of liquid metal clay stuff! The one I’d accidentally taken from Reggie’s house. I hoped it was still there, and that someone hadn’t taken it during the initial break-in. Upon first glance, I couldn’t see it, and I was heartbroken, thinking I would have to explain to Reggie that not only did I freak out his lover, but I stole something from his house that in turn was stolen from me! Upon closer inspection, however, I could see that it was simply camouflaged against the metal of the ashtray. It had conformed to the bottom, looking like it was part of the car.
Again, I was struck with how amazing a thing it was. It was like metal clay, changing shape, stretching out, contorting to whatever form I gave it, and when I laid it out on my palm, it began to simply puddle. I felt like there was a buzzing kind of energy that surrounded the metal, the way two magnets with the same poles will interact with a particular force. You can’t see it, but when you try to put them together, you feel the resistance. It was like magic, except not, because there’s an actual scientific explanation for the reaction of the magnets. There was no scientific explanation that I could think of to explain this liquid metal stuff, which didn’t mean there wasn’t one. I was not a science major in college. Could it be dangerous?