Shift ☆ Louis Partridge

14 | Her

☀
LOUIS

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THIRD OF DECEMBER, PREVIOUS YEAR

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SOMETHING HAPPENED.

There's not a specific process when it comes to waking up—I sort-of open my eyes and get out of bed, maybe swear a little if I'm tired—but that's a habit I've had my entire life. I go to sleep, I dream, and I wake up.

And I don't have dreams about strangers.

Well, not usually, that is.

I'm currently pacing across my room, the wooden floor feeling like ice against my bare feet, and my bed still unmade. I've been too freaked out to make it. No, I'm not freaked out, but I'm incredibly confused. Yesterday, I was doing interviews for Enola Holmes, and then I went to sleep.

And had this strangely long dream about meeting a girl—I don't remember the name, it's almost like my brain purposely shuts out the memory—on a train, and falling in love with her.

I fell in love with her.

Is it possible to love someone you met in a dream, and someone who doesn't exist for all you know? It just seemed so vivid, and I find myself missing someone I've never met.

But I don't love her, because she's not real.

She's just a dream.

But all I remember was watching her walk through the doors of an airport, saying goodbye, and then I was waking up like it never happened. That none of it happened. And I'm not ashamed to admit that I cried when I awoke, because I felt like a part of me had been taken away.

I need to call Millie.

Not my sister, my best friend.

Swiping into my phone, I found her contact and began to wait for the dial tones to stop ringing. She answered almost instantly.

"For God's sake, Louis," she said groggily from the speaker, "it's three AM."

Time zones, I forgot.

"Think of this as payback for when you called me that one time," I sighed, slumping onto my bed, "but seriously, I need help."

"No," she said.

"Why not?"

"My body may be awake, but my brain is still sleeping, okay?"

"What if I told you I'm in love with someone," I said quickly, my own words betraying me, "someone I met in a dream?"

There was a bit of shuffling, followed by the sound of someone running across a room, and then there was silence. I blinked, wondering what Millie was up to.

"I'm up," she said quickly, "now tell me everything, and don't you dare leave out any details or I will reach through the phone and wrench them out of you."

That being said, I told her everything. At least everything I remembered, anyways. Waking up on a train, spilling my tea over a stranger, somehow feeling drawn to her like a fly to honey. I told her about the play, the fight, the mistakes I made, and the moment I felt like I was looking a star in the eyes—this bright, lovely thing that held every single one of my wishes.

And I told her that I fell in love with her in a dream.

Which doesn't seem possible.

"You're completely mental," Millie laughed, "are you being serious?"

I let myself roll off of my mattress and onto the floor. "Yeth."

"I can't hear you, you're mumbling."

"I said yes," I said louder, "I'm just processing my life right now."

I knew I sounded ridiculous, and with every passing second, I thought I was going to lose my mind. Maybe I already was. Who was she? Why did I dream about her? Why was she stuck in the back of my brain like a memory that I created?

I had so many questions, but no one could answer them.

Only she could, but she might not exist.

And while I thought this one took my heart and broke it, I didn't know I'd have two more in the next few months. One involving pirates and lost boys, and the other involving rabbit holes and playing cards. I was slowly breaking inside.

I don't know if I can fall asleep and lose her again.

· · ───── ·𖥸· ───── · ·

ONE MONTH LATER

"NO, YOU CANNOT HAVE MY SOCK," I said, "I'm afraid I need it."

Currently, I was on the run from a pack of rabid fans, who were trying to steal my clothing and sell it on Ebay. It was a bloody mess—I punctured a bike tire, went to get a pump, ran into the group, and now I'm here—trying not to get robbed.

Dashing down the street, I tried to clamber onto my bicycle to ride away, but remembered it was currently out of air.

I'm going to die.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," I muttered under my breath, both to the bike and to me, "so bloody stupid."

I managed to score a few blocks ahead of the fan-group, but I knew they were hot on my tails. I needed to hide. A disguise, or someone to help me blend in.

Aha!

I noticed a bus stop a few paces away, someone sitting on the bench alone. Maybe I could pretend to wait for a bus. And, if all goes to hell, I could throw the stranger at the fans and run while they were distracted.

"Hello, terribly sorry," I panicked, rushing under the stand, "can I sit here?"

I didn't even wait for a response before I ducked under the bus stop and slid onto the bench next to them. Tossing my bike off to the side, I didn't pay it anymore heed—because honestly, it was pissing me off, anyways.

"Are you okay?" They asked.

"Perfectly fine," I said in return.

But it wasn't till I turned my head to address them, that I realized just who I was sitting next to. A part of me wanted to admit that she was just as shocked as I was, possibly even just as scared as I was, but the only words that came out of her mouth were:

"Oh hell, you're Louis Partridge."

She knew who I was, but I didn't know who she was. I had seen her in my dreams, and they all felt so real I thought I was seeing a past life of some incredible sort. But here she was, right in front of me, and I didn't even know her name.

But somehow I know her.