Together (Book 1)

Chapter 11

Virgil's POV

I looked at Roman, seeing a smile playing across his face as he stared back at me.  My brain told me it wasn't real—it was just a dream—but I wanted to savor every moment of it.

His eyes sparkled.  "I've always thought you were cute, ya know," he said.

I smiled.  "We have the same face, remember, so are you complimenting me or just yourself?"

His expression dropped.  He responded plainly, "Myself."

I wasn't smiling anymore.  Oh, no...  This was not going to be a good dream; I could already feel it.  "Of course you are..." I sat glumly on the floor.  I crossed my legs and looked back up at him.  "I was having a good day.  Before you start with whatever you had planned, I want you to know that."

It wasn't the first time that one of the Sides had visited me in my dreams; in fact, they often dropped by in the black void of my unconsciousness.  Roman was one of the most common in recent years.

"Can't I have just one kiss before it gets ugly?" he asked nicely.

I paused, remembering how my dreams usually went.  What harm could it do? I thought, standing up slowly.

Roman stepped closer to me—so close that I could feel the heat radiating off his body.  Gently, he pressed his lips into mine, and I melted.  I didn't stop myself, knowing that this was all just a fantasy, as I kissed back, moving my lips slowly with his.  He pushed against me, and my back hit a wall I hadn't known was there.

I pulled away in panic.  "Roman, please, s—stop," I mumbled as his lips traveled to my jaw and lower.  "Roman," I insisted, bringing my hands to his chest in an attempt to push him away.

He grabbed my wrists, forcing them against the wall by my head as he glared daggers at me. "Don't try to stop me."

I opened my mouth to respond, only to cut myself off as his lips came in contact with my neck.  He immediately found a spot that sent uncomfortable chills through my body.   "Stop, p—please..." I struggled against him; I stumbled over pleas and dig what little nails I had into my palms.

Wake up, I begged myself.  Wake up; wake up; wake up.

Roman pulled me away from the wall and turned me around.  I was crying now, my entire body trembling as my face pressed against the wall.

———

"Virgil?"  Roman's voice woke me up, and I threw my eyes open.  He hovered over me on his knees, his expression awash with worry.  "You were crying in your sleep."  His breathing was heavy.

I sat up, pushing my back against the headboard—for support or to put distance between us, I wasn't sure.  "I'm fine," I lied.  "It was just a bad dream."  When his expression didn't waver, I sighed and raked my hand through my hair in an attempt to calm myself.

Roman fell still.

I stopped, too, my hand still reaching above my head, and asked, "What?"

Slowly, he reached forward and pulled my hand from my hair, holding it in his lap.  I stared wide-eyed at my wrist.  Long, finger-shaped bruises marred my skin.  I looked at my other wrist, seeing the same marks.

It's not real; it's not real.  I looked up at Roman for reassurance but saw the same fear in his eyes.

I pulled my hand away and covered my eyes, still feeling the sharp pain for Dream-Roman's fingers digging into my flesh.  Eyes squeezed shut, I took one hand away and snapped my fingers.

When I opened them again, I looked down to see my normal, pale skin.

"What happened in your dream?" Roman asked quietly.

Nothing; nothing; nothing.  "You were there..."  Dammit!

His breathing hitched, and his once-melodic voice turned to gravel as he said, "Did I...?"  It was as though he couldn't bring himself to say more—couldn't bring himself to ask if he'd hurt me, even if it was just a dream.

Tell him no; tell him no!  He can't know, and you don't want to hurt his feelings!  There's no point in being honest.  I nodded—subtly.  Fuck.

"Virgil... wh—what did I do...?"  His voice shook with every word.

"Nothing; it doesn't matter.  It was just—"

"Don't tell me it doesn't matter!  Virgil, I don't care if it was just a dream.  You need to know that I could never bring myself to hurt you."

"It was just a dream," I tried.

"It was more than just a dream, and you know it, otherwise it wouldn't have created bruises on your wrists."

I couldn't meet his gaze.  He was right, and I hated it.  I could still feel his lips on my neck—the way I dug my nails into my palms as he bruised my skin.  I squeezed my hands into fists, trying to get rid of those lingering feelings as I also searched for the right thing to say.

Roman touched my hand, and I flinched; I couldn't help it.  However, I didn't pull away, and neither did he.

I still didn't look up; I was sure of the look I'd see in his eyes: pain and sadness and pity and worry.  "It was just a dream," I repeated eventually.  It was just a dream, I told myself as well.

———

The next day, I was lying in bed.  "Hey, Thomas.  You forgot to text Joan back.  Do you think they hate you yet?" I said, smiling wide.

He groaned anxiously.

My work here is done.

There was a knock at the door.

"Uh, come in?" I sat up, waiting for whoever it was to enter.

Logan opened the door, standing awkwardly in the doorway before stepping in and closing it behind him.  "What do you think you are doing?"