Asleep

38 The Den

Nora~~

Ryann clinks his glass against mine as the music of the Lion's Den—or the Den as most people here call it—pounds in the air around us. I rest my elbow on the bar, sipping at my rum and cola, eyes scanning over the colorful bottles lining the shelves above the heads of the three bartenders. Lights shine through the bottles, giving them a florescent glow.

Ricky's made sure his club fits its namesake. The bar itself looks as if it's been carved from rock and the walls are painted a dark gray, lit only in a faint purple light.

Though I told Tye the real reason I wanted to come, I told Ryann I wanted to come here for the single purpose of having fun.

He drinks a whiskey cola. I took one sip of it and said I'd stick with rum.

Ricky and Avery aren't the only reason I'm here. I'm hoping to see who Ryann might sell res to. He told me it helps people, yet Avery and Ricky said not to touch it. Even though I've known Ryann longer, I'm inclined to believe the two friends. After all, Ryann isn't going to tell me he's selling a drug that hurts people.

I never ended up telling him that I had also been taken. I've done my best to hide from him anything that might make me different in his eyes—even before I knew about the res. The less people who know I don't fit, the better.

"What do you think?"

I startle, my elbow slipping, thinking for a moment he had somehow been privy to my thoughts. But he means the club. "I like it." I make sure to add a smile to mask my tone that I know comes across as . . . off.

He finishes off his drink. "I need to use the bathroom before my next one. You'll be okay by yourself?"

I assure him I will and angle myself into the bar, my wedges resting on the bottom rung of the stool.

Being a Friday night, the club's packed. Radia would love it here. She'd be dragging me out onto the floor to dance.

"Was it my fantastic marketing skills that brought you here or did Ryann force you to come?"

I jolt, twisting to the side to find Avery's slipped onto Ryann's barstool, a smug expression splayed across her face.

I raise my glass in welcome. "Definitely your pitch."

A bartender sets a bottle of beer in front of Avery without her asking.

She smiles at him and turns back to me. "So Ryann, is that your type? Blond hair. Blue eyes. A little bit cliché, don't you think?"

"He's not my—What did you say?"

She gives me a funny look. "That his looks are a bit cliché."

Cliché.

My glass slips out my hand, shattering as it hits the floor. Avery swears, jerking back.

There was someone a long time ago whose looks I called cliché.

Not Tye.

Not Charlie.

Aaron. Aaron.

Avery places her hand on my thigh, shaking me. "Nora."

Where am I?

I grip the bar.

I'm going to protect you in there.

There.

The dream.

The room spins, and Avery's hands are on me, keeping me up.

"Is she okay?" That cliché face appears in front of me, the glass crunching under his feet.

"Aaron."

"Who?" He looks past me, where Avery stands. "Who is she talking about?"

Avery doesn't offer a verbal response.

How are we here? How can he also be Ryann?

I hold out my hands in front of me. Ten fingers. That's not right. That should mean this is real.

"I'm asleep."

Avery's hands clamp down on me, and she guides me off the stool.

"I'll take her home," Aaron—Ryann says.

Avery leans against me as if sheltering me. "I think she should come with me."

Aaron pulls me away from her. "She doesn't know you. She's coming with me." He leads me through the club. Avery yells something at him, but the music muffles her words.

The night air on my face is a relief.

The street is almost empty despite most of the restaurants on this street being open.

How can none of this be real? I press the heel of my hand into my forehead. Aaron and I . . . we were at a . . . a job.

Aaron leads me down the street, the subway station being a few blocks over. "Did you know that girl?"

"That was Avery." I let her see me, hear me as I realized where I was—what Charlie told me not to do. I tug on Aaron's hand. "Do you really not remember? That you're Aaron. That we've known each other much longer than a month."

"I don't know who Aaron is, Nora. And do you realize how absurd you sound? You haven't even been in Somnia two months."

"Before that."

He presses his thumb and forefinger against his eyelids. "There was nothing before. I've been here for a year. Trust me, I didn't know you until Radia introduced us." He glances around our surroundings before pulling me off the sidewalk and into a parking lot. Reaching his hand into his back pocket, he pulls out a clear bag filled with pearls—res. He holds the bag out. "Take one."

I recoil. It helps people temporarily forget. "No. I'm not going to forget we're asleep."

"Asleep? Do you hear yourself?" He shakes the bag, shoving it in my face. "Take. One."

I slap his hand away, and the bag falls to the ground, the Res rolling onto the asphalt. "No, Aaron."

His hand comes up, wrapping around my throat. With both of my hands, I pry at his fingers. This isn't my Aaron. Their body is the same without a doubt. But their personalities? There aren't many similarities.

"I'm trying to help you," he grits out. His fingers dig into my neck. I gasp, dragging in whatever air I can, my eyes locked with his, and as I stare into them, the memories comes rushing back; Aaron donating his time to tutor the kids who needed it most; Aaron trying to trap the bugs that wandered into school so he could release them outside; Aaron caring for his grandmother when he'd get home from school.

I open my mouth, my lips forming words, but I can't get any air out to put sound to them.

"Take it and I'll stop."

This also isn't the Ryann I've come to know. What's been done to him? It's like a switch has been flipped.

Pace.

What has Doctor Pace done?

Black spots loom in the edges of my vision. Aaron—Ryann or whoever is wearing his skin can't kill me. This is a dream.

It's only a dream.

So . . . yeah.