Gifted

Chapter Seven

Instead of sitting in the courtyard like the other dreams, I was in my bedroom at my Gran's. I sat cross legged on the carpet in the middle of the room; he lounged across from me. His amber eyes sparkled. I knew immediately this was different than most of the dreams I had about him, for one I moved freely; I had control over myself.

"Show me," he said.

"Show you what?" Even in this new dream I seemed to have a relaxed comfortable relationship with him, as if we knew each other well.

He laughed. "What you've learned."

Somehow I knew he was referring to my hair. I closed my eyes and imagined my hair cutting itself off at the shoulders. I knew he had seen it by the low chuckle, and then I instantly focused on growing it back out.

"Good." He sounded pleased and I'm not sure why, but it made me happy to please him. "I can show you a couple of things."

"You can?"

"You see that picture?" He nodded to the picture of my parents on my night stand. "Get it."

I started to get up, and he put his hand on my knee forcing me to stay sitting. His touch sent electric sparks coursing through my veins. I gasped at his touch, even though he had touched me a dozen times in my other dreams. Nothing prepared me for the way it stole my breath this time. I sat dazed for a moment.

"How- I started to ask, but he cut me off.

"You know how."

It took a moment for me to realize that since he wanted to see my trick with my hair, he'd want to see me move something. I hadn't tried this yet, but I knew I'd be able to; just like controlling my hair. I concentrated on my parents faces for a moment, and for the first time, without closing my eyes. I watched the picture frame whip at me from the nightstand. Luckily, he caught it in midair before it crashed into my face.

"Excellent." He leaned closer and took my hand. It sent the same prickles up my arm and the points he touched my hand felt as if they were on fire. He held his hand out for the other, and I willingly placed it in his. "I want you to concentrate."

"On what?"

"On your hands."

"Why?" I couldn't help letting out a nervous giggle.

He ran his thumbs over the palms of my hands. "Trust me." When he said the words it felt like I was hearing them inside my head. I did trust him, inexplicably and wholly. I closed my eyes and thought about my hands, where they touched his, and where I had recently re-opened the scratches. The warmth spread over my palms and intensified. I jerked my eyes open just in time to see the small scratches and cuts fade to dull pink lines. They looked as if they'd been healed for some time.

I gasped, and he looked at me with a smug grin. "Morgan, you're special."

I shook my head confused. It was only a dream, but it felt too real. I had a million questions, but his beautiful sparkling amber eyes darkened abruptly cutting me short. At first, just a shade darker, then slowly the black pupils took over swallowing the amber irises completely. All that remained were two eyes as dark as tar, the boy smiled and this smile was unsettling. This smile left me feeling broken.

The clock on my desk read five in the morning, and I was drenched in sweat. I ran my hands through my tangled damp hair and took in a few shaky breaths. It was the opposite I felt so many times after waking from a dream with him. Something felt wrong. I still had the unmistakable desire to find him, for him to be real, but it felt tainted by something I couldn't yet place. I tried to lie back down, but I kept seeing his eyes change from beautiful liquid gold to two oil slicks.