Page 101 of The Lost and the Found

Hayden

I had goneto bed by ten o’clock that night.

Only, I didn’t fall sleep right away. I stared up at my ceiling in the dark, hating how wounded I felt.

In the ninth grade, I had this huge crush on a boy in my French class. He was lanky but put together. With blond hair and the clearest blue eyes, he stole my teenage heart with a single glance.

His name was Nico and he had the nicest smile I had ever seen on a boy.

I still remembered him, even after all this time, mostly because I didn’t usually crush on boys that hard. He started school late because his birthday was in October, which made him almost a year older than me. And a week before spring break, I finally worked up the courage to ask him out.

But he didn’t feel the same way about me, and I didn’t know he had a girlfriend already. She was a sophomore, someone older, more mature—at least, more mature in my eyes. I couldn’t compete, and I felt the sting of his rejection well into the beginning of my sophomore year.

I’d read somewhere that rejection can physically hurt. And I felt that then.

Thishurt was a thousand times worse, only I didn’t know if Logan had rejected me. It had been more than twelve hours since we last spoke, and I kind of got the feeling that he was mad at me.

And I didn’t want him to be mad at me anymore.

I wanted his arms around me while I fell asleep. I wanted those kisses he placed on my forehead, and I wanted his reassurance that I wasn’t crazy for loving him this quickly.

I drifted off into a deep sleep about an hour after I went to bed, and it was early morning when I felt Logan in bed next to me.

I knew I must be dreaming, because there was no way in hell he was there, but I didn’t care.

I snuggled deeper into dream-Logan, burying my face into his chest, tangling our legs together.

I let out a soft sigh, as tears made their way pass my closed eyelids. I missed him that much.

My dream-Logan was as gentle as the real man, as he used his thumbs to wipe those tears away.

“Ah, baby. Don’t cry. It’s okay,” dream-Logan said.

“I’m sorry,” I said, softly, my throat clogging up.

“I’m sorry, too.”

And then I felt his lips on my forehead, and my fist clutched his shirt tightly.

After that, I fell into a restful sleep, and in my dreams, Logan told me he loved me for the first time.

* * *

I wokeup in warmth and comfort.

Right away I knew something wasn’t right, because I’d never woken up in warmth and comfort in my apartment. I was usually curled in a tight ball under my many, many blankets, because as sucky as the heater was in this apartment, it was even worse in my bedroom.

I opened my eyes and took in Logan’s huge form lying next to me. He was almost on top of me, his arms wrapped tightly around my body, while our legs were tangled beneath the sheets.

And his eyes were wide open, not a hint of sleep in them. He’d been awake for some time, watching me sleep.

It took a while before my brain caught up to what I was seeing, but when it did, my eyes widened in surprise, and I tried to move away from him. He tightened his arms around me, holding me still.

“What are you doing here?”

“I tried to give you some distance, but I couldn’t.”

“But how did you get in? My doors were locked.” I knew they were. I locked up when Kenny left. I always locked up, no matter what.

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