Come What May

6. feels like home

CHAPTER SIX

FEELS LIKE HOME

—

• tuesday, march 16th •

Nightmares aren't something that I usually experience, but when they do happen, they leave me more shaken up than ever.

And that's exactly what happens when I wake up with my heart hammering away in my chest, mouth forming a strange metallic taste that's almost like it's coming all the way from my throat.

Breathing out a shaky sigh, I hesitantly close my eyes again, as if I wasn't doing that for the past six and a half hours, or seven, more like.

Oscar Williams' hands are still on my neck though. Even after I close my eyes and try to wipe away the memories of my nightmare, his lips are still on my jaw, and his teeth are still sinking down into my lips.

Maybe that's where the metallic taste is coming from.

I'm not entirely sure why it's Oscar Williams in my dreams; maybe it's because his face is the only one I still remember from that night at the party, or maybe it's because the look in his eyes told me that what I dreamt about was what he wanted to do to me.

I don't know. What I do know, however, is that my tongue is sandpaper in my mouth, and flicking it over my lips isn't getting rid of the metal, let alone moistening them.

I also know that if I stay in bed any longer, I'm going to end up receiving a call from either Russel or Radhika, both yelling the exact same thing to me; "Get your ass to the studio right now."

Still, I can't bring myself to get out of bed just yet. Not when the cold sweat that's coating my t-shirt reminds me of my nightmare— a dream to Oscar Williams— where he was thrusting into me, whispering words that I don't think I'll ever forget, choking me until I couldn't inhale.

The mere thought of it leaves a festering nest of bees swarming in my stomach, buzzing, buzzing, buzzing, stinging at my organs until nausea is the only thing I can feel.

"Get out of bed," I mutter to myself, my eyes flitting from the giant spot of sweat that my back has left on the bed to the balcony of the Airbnb and the bees that are humming next to the hive on the opposite balcony. "You need to get out of bed."

Somehow, my own words of encouragement work better than my phone's alarm blaring at a volume that I'm certain the dog that meets me outside the building can hear, and I push myself out of bed, stumbling to the right, the exact same way that I did in my nightmare when Oscar Williams pinned me against the wall and tugged at—

No.

The last thing that I want to do is think about the nightmare, I just know that if I keep thinking about it, if it keeps replaying in my mind, I won't be able to function during the shoot today.

At the very least, I can turn this day around for myself with a good shoot.

But as much as I try to convince myself that the day will be good no matter what, it doesn't work as well as I expect it to.

So, I pull out my phone and dial in the first number that I can think of, one of the only three phone numbers that I know off the top of my head.

"Asif!" Mom's voice yelps from the other line, the clanging of the pots and the crackle of the television in the background already telling me everything I need to know, already painting the current scenery in the Adams-Catacutan-Nazari household.