BOUNDED

CHAPTER 5

My eyes snapped open, heart pounding furiously in my chest. This wasn't like the usual nightmares. Sweat trickled down my temples, the heat under the duvet suffocating. Discomfort aside, I reached frantically for my phone, fingers trembling until they finally closed around it. Dialing his number was instinctive, and he answered on the second ring.

"Hello, Dr. Stevenson."

"Amber? Wha—"

"Can you fit me in today?" I cut him off abruptly.

"...Of course. Is 12 noon okay for you?"

"Yes, I'll be there. Thank you."

"Mention not."

I hung up, staring blankly at the ceiling. Why was this happening now? Why him? Just when I thought I was getting better...

Sighing heavily, I threw off the duvet and swung my feet onto the cold floor, instantly regretting it as a throbbing pain surged through my head. "Damn hangover," I muttered, groping for headache pills in the bedside drawer. Swallowing them hastily with water, I stumbled towards the bathroom to freshen up.

Downstairs, Clara's voice carried from the dining table, speaking in hushed tones on the phone. I joined her, grabbing an apple from the fruit basket.

"Okay... Did she? Why—" She abruptly stopped as she noticed me, flashing a warm smile. "I'll talk to you later... Yeah, bye."

Placing her phone down, Clara turned to me with concern. "I'll let Ms. Rossi know you'll be late today. Is your head still bothering you?"

"No, I took pills. And tell Ms. Rossi I won't come today. I have an appointment with Dr. Stevenson," I replied tonelessly.

Nodding understandingly, Clara refrained from prying further. She knew I'd share when ready—a silent understanding I appreciated at that moment.

I knocked on Dr. Stevenson's door, hearing his muffled "come in." Entering, I found him smiling warmly, gesturing for me to sit. Clutching my purse tightly, I took the offered seat, nails biting into the fabric.

"Relax, Amber. You must relax here," he reminded gently.

I forced my hands to loosen and accepted the glass of water he offered, realizing only then how parched my throat had become. "Shall we start?" he asked.

I nodded. "I saw it again today."

"I know," he shrugged matter-of-factly. "You called early. I am a psychiatrist, after all."

"But it was different," I insisted.

"In what way?"

"I saw him this time—the man from the library. I recognized his serene eyes instantly, as if he knew me for decades. There was something in his gaze... something I can't grasp."

"Can you describe the dream in detail?"

Taking a deep breath, I recounted, "I found myself in darkness again, in that eerie corridor. The door stood before me, beckoning. As I moved towards it, his voice stopped me—a gentle call of my name. I turned to see him, his eyes holding a strange mix of satisfaction and relief. Before he could touch me, the dream ended abruptly. No falling ground, no deafening scream."

"Did he say anything?"

"No," I replied.

Dr. Stevenson scribbled notes, then leaned forward. "Did he look the same as in the library?"

I hesitated, recalling his appearance vividly. "No, he looked different. His face and eyes were the same, but his hair was curly, and he wore vintage clothing—a coat from the 17th or 18th century. He looked ethereal."

A blush crept to my cheeks, embarrassed by the intensity of my revelation.

"It's okay, Amber," he reassured kindly. "You're here to share your thoughts."

"But why him? I barely know him."

"Attraction can manifest in strange ways. Your mind might have fixated on him," he suggested.

Embarrassment faded to uncertainty. "Anything else?"

Shaking my head, I murmured, "No."

"Don't worry, Amber. It could mean nothing," he said softly.

"Okay."

After thanking him, I left his office, the cool air outside offering a welcomed contrast to the heaviness inside. Walking home, I sensed a presence behind me—a follower. I quickened my pace, confirming my suspicion as he matched my stride.

Panicked, I turned corners, but he persisted until I stumbled and fell, head pounding. Pain surged as I touched my forehead, my hand coming away bloody. Confusion deepened as I realized I wasn't on the same street anymore, but I recognized the area.

Glancing at my palm, I saw a tiny white spark vanish before my eyes. Something strange was happening, and Dr. Stevenson's rational explanations seemed inadequate in the face of these inexplicable occurrences.

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