Page 32 of Carnival
I sit up in bed, struggling to breathe. My forehead’s covered in sweat, my throat is dry, and no matter how much I try to regain control of my breathing, it’s difficult. It’s as if someone had torn into my body, removed all of the organs, and somehow left me alive.
My hands are shaking as I grip the blanket, my fists curling around the fabric. My eyes dart around, and it takes me a few moments to realize that I’m still in the bedroom James had taken me to and that all of that was just a dream.
Just a dream.
It felt so vivid, so real. The thought of the dream, or perhaps the hidden meaning behind the creepy setting — if there even is one, causes my skin to crawl. It’s such an odd feeling. I’m no stranger to nightmares, but this was entirely different.
This is the first time it felt as if the dream would come back to kill me.
I take in a deep breath, slowly being able to calm down. I bury my face in my hands, still lightly trembling. The moment I close my eyes, I see the little girl all over again — and her words are haunting me. I didn’t kill anyone, ever. And I sure as fuck didn’t kill a child. So, what the hell was the meaning of the dream?
I flop back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, then look to the right.
James is dozing off in the armchair across the bed, arms folded in front of his chest. That stupid clown mask of his is right next to his feet, staring at me, mocking and taunting me.
I always found it extremely creepy and odd, since I’d never seen a mask that was even remotely similar to it, but now it has a deeper layer of bone-curdling sensations. Why did I have to dream about it? Why did it have to somehow circle back to James?
For the next hour, I toss and turn, and no matter how much I try, sleep doesn’t come to me. Instead, my head’s filled with a million different questions, and quite honestly — I’m scared.
I’m scared of having the same dream all over again and scared of what it might mean, and with the memory gaps in my early childhood, I’m scared of what could’ve caused me to forget. Or worse, what was that bad for me to forget about it entirely.
I turn to face James, lying on my side. I nearly jump out of bed when I spot him wide awake, just staring back at me. My heart picks up the pace, beating roughly. He’s staring at me, and if I squint my eyes, I could bet that there’s a hint of concern hidden in his eyes.
“How long have you been awake?” I mumble.
“Since you started tossing and turning,’’ he says, standing from the armchair, stretching his arms above his head, and of course, flexing his muscles while he’s at it. “You weren’t exactly quiet.”
“I’m sorry.’’
“Don’t be,’’ he takes a seat at the edge of the bed. It’s unnerving how good he is at keeping a stoic face and how much I struggle to read anything behind those expressionless eyes. “A nightmare?”
I nod, pulling the covers up to my chin, snuggling in them. The warmth keeps me feeling at ease, even though it’s probably just in my head. James tilts his head to the side, observing me with nothing that could even show me a glimpse of what is going on in that head of his.
Slowly, he crawls into the bed beside me, and I’m momentarily frozen, only observing his movements. He keeps a bit of distance between us, and I exhale a breath of relief. Something about his sudden proximity causes my stomach to do backflips, a change I’m welcoming. It’s better than having it churn from the nightmare.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I shake my head.
I’m not sure what the fucking dream was about, but my therapist will be hearing about it. It doesn’t take me long to shove the nightmare to the back of my head and focus on James entirely.
The way his thick lashes are curled, the tiny freckles all over his nose and under his eyes. Even the smallest details are visible in the darkness of the room, and for a while, neither of us speaks.We bask in the comfortable, peaceful silence, staring into each other’s eyes. If he hadn’t kidnapped me and taken me here against my will, this would’ve been a very romantic moment.
“When can I leave?”
I’m surprised at the calmness in my voice. It’s steady and firm, but not too loud. James doesn’t react at all. Except for blinking a few times, he merely looks at me. He sighs, sits up, and leans against the headboard of the bed.
“When I say so.’’
His answer manages to irritate me beyond belief. I sit up in the bed, hair falling messily down my waist, blankets wrapped around me like a protective shield. I try to keep my anger at bay, because it won’t solve anything, and it definitely won’t make James let me go.
“What about Aria?”
“Ah, your little friend,’’ he chuckles. “Don’t worry about her. Right about now, she should be on her way back to New York.’’
My brows lift to my hairline. “What did you do?”
He shrugs. “I just informed her that you’re well and taken care of and that there’s no reason for her to stay here.’’
