I open my eyes, happy that my nightmare was just that—a nightmare and nothing more. This is like the umpteenth time this week that I had a nightmare about my past. I groan and roll over onto my back, when I caught it from the corner of my eye, I let out a scream.
Faye was sitting on her heels next to my head, watching me.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"Nothing, just waiting for you to wake up roomie," she slumps back on the bed, "didn't know you were such a drama queen and you'd scream the house down."
"You should know you looked like a psychopath."
"That was the point," she says, "You left me hanging last night."
"Were you waiting for me to wake up, in that position?"
"No," she scoffs and I breathe a sigh of relief, then she brings up a bowl of cereals from next to her on the floor. Since our bed is basically a mattress on top of light-colored wood pallets, the clean floor is used like a night stand.
"Is that breakfast?" I ask.
"No," she shrugs, "It's the codes of a nuclear bomb that I decoded from Bach's last unfinished sonata."
I groan, plopping my head on the pillow. "I'm so not in the mood for sarcasm, so early in the morning."
"It's 08:30," she comments and I groan louder.
"Fuck!" I curse, "I didn't hear the alarm!" We were supposed to start work at 10 A.M. so we needed to get up at 8 A.M. so that we can enjoy our morning and leave at 9 A.M.
"I figured as much," she says around a mouthful, "You were having another nightmare."
"Yeah..."
"Was the date that bad?"
"What?" I frown, "No, it was perfect."
"Tell me!" she puts down her bowl, "You were supposed to swing by Anthony's yesterday, instead, when I got home I found you passed out on the bed, I didn't even get a blow-by-blow recall of the date!"
