Interconnected

Chapter Seven

My boots sink in dark mud, rain plastering my hair to my head. Somewhere, a baby cries, and I flinch as a rickety motorcycle nearly misses me.

Everything is dark, shadowed, as if it was a drawing left half undone. Even I am blurry around the edges, my pale hands indistinct in front of me.

I'm searching for something, and I'm so close, I can nearly feel it. It's just ahead of me, just out of my reach...

The rain stings my eyes, but I force my gaze upwards. The broad strokes of the world around me come into focus at one point, brilliantly illuminating the boy who stands, face downcast, in the middle of the street. It's Ben, his outline swirling with colour, water dripping off of his face.

He can't see me. It's like he's looking right through me, and no matter how I scream, he doesn't look up.

The world fractures around me, broken pieces dripping with paint, and I fall, grasping for something, anything, to hold on to.

But there's nothing.

I wake up gasping, legs tangled in my sheets and my sweat-soaked hair sticking to my forehead. My heart is pounding, and it takes me several minutes to be able to calm down enough to sit up.

I push the hair off of my face. God. I don't know why that dream affected me as much as it did. It wasn't a nightmare or anything, and I've definitely had my fair share of those. I used to be scared of the dark as a kid, and would dream about being trapped in the endless black. This wasn't that.

I guess it just felt so real. And familiar. I'm trying to remember when I might've had that dream before, when it hits me—

Rose's drawing. The scene in my head was nearly identical, even if I don't remember seeing the house in a ton of detail—but the street, the darkness, even the strange almost-drawing-like quality of the images—it's all her picture come to life.

My alarm goes off then, and I jump a little. My brain is starting to come back online, small pulses of fear still running through me, but I have so much to do that I can't really take the time to wake up slowly.

Telling Ben I could handle getting Rose up and ready for the day had seemed like an easy decision at the time—after all, she usually gets herself up in the morning, and she's not a little kid. She can make sure she has all the stuff she needs for the day.

But after my dream, all I want to do is lay in bed until the last possible second, then grab a granola bar and run to assembly. Instead, I pull myself out of bed, make myself get dressed, pack a bag, and try to motivate myself by dreaming about the cinnamon buns at breakfast.

I'm just about to leave, laptop packed securely in my messenger bag, when my phone pings.

It's Ben. At first I'm annoyed, remembering how I felt yesterday, how the divide between us had suddenly seemed to grow, but then it's burnt out by the worry that spikes through me when I read the message.