Suddenly, we were back in his room. Finally. I can’t remember his words exactly. And I’m not sure we even spoke. But it felt like I heard him.
Or understood him.
We were lying in his bed, happy. Noah propped himself up. He pushed my hair behind my ear, but as he did, his smile shifted.
It lessened.
It was like he was reflecting on the memory of us. Even looking at me there, right in front of him, he looked nostalgic.
Like he had moved on.
Like he had let go of me.
Like we were already over.
I wrapped my fingers around his wrist, trying to show him that I was still here. I shook him, trying to get him to really look at me. To see me. But his expression didn’t change. His smile slowly faded, and he got out of bed. I tried to speak, but I couldn’t. My mouth moved, but no words came out. He couldn’t hear me.
And then Noah left his room.
I got up to go after him, but when I got to his door, it was locked. I shook the handle over and over, but I couldn’t get out. I was trapped. I tried to scream, but I didn’t have a voice. I slammed against the door, but there was only silence. My fists didn’t make a sound. I started crying. I could feel the tears, I could feel the burning in my throat, but I couldn’t hear myself. I couldn’t hear anything. No one came to the door.
And then I woke up.
A shiver rips through me.
“What the hell?” Mohammad mumbles from the floor.
I cover my eyes with my hands, trying to forget my dream.
“You’re soaked through,” he whispers, sliding next to me in bed.
I glance over to see that Olivia and Naomi are curled up on my other side, still asleep.
“Bad dream,” I reply, trying to shuffle through my thoughts. I need to separate what was real and what was a dream. “A nightmare.”
“Well, you’re okay now. It was just a dream,” he says.
I nod, pulling my legs up to my chest, and stare at my toes. Mohammad’s right. It was just a dream. I close my eyes, trying to forget the way Noah looked at me and wondering if it was some kind of premonition.
“You’re shaking.” Mohammad pulls me toward him, and I lean my head on his shoulder.
“I’m cold,” I whisper.
“Here.” Mohammad pulls up the comforter, covering both of us. “Better?”
I nod.
“Was the boogie monster chasing you?” Mohammad asks with a yawn.
“It was terrible. I was locked in a room, and I couldn’t get out,” I reply. “I kept trying … I wanted to so badly, but I couldn’t.” A tear escapes, rolling down my cheek.
“It’s all right. It was just a dream,” Mohammad says again, rubbing my shoulder.
I nod against him, wiping my eyes.
It was just a dream.
Mohammad rubs my shoulder for a few minutes before speaking. “Why don’t you go take a shower? You’ll feel better after.”
“Okay,” I reply. But I don’t move. My chest aches, and my body feels lifeless.
“What was the dream about?” Mohammad asks.
I swallow, my throat hot and scratchy.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I finally say.
“Who’s talking over there?” Olivia mumbles from the other side of the bed. Her face is smushed into her pillow, and her blonde hair is everywhere.
“Sorry,” I whisper. I wipe at my eyes, not wanting them to see me cry. “I’m going to go shower.”
I start to crawl over Mohammad, trying to get out of bed. But he gets up with me and follows me into the bathroom.
“What was it about?” he asks, closing the door behind us.
I sit down on the bench as Mohammad turns on the shower. He makes sure a towel is next to it before looking back at me.
“It was terrible. I couldn’t ever get to him. Over and over, I followed him, and he always slipped out of my fingers. When I finally found him, well, it didn’t matter. I could see it in his eyes. I was a part of his past. And he was happy about it. I wasn’t his future, Mohammad. I wasn’t anything, except a memory that had lingered for too long.” Tears escape my eyes, and I bury my head in my hands. My body shakes as I relive the dream.
The nightmare.
“Shh.” Mohammad’s palm finds my back, and he pats it gently. “It’s okay.”
“But it’s not,” I snap. I look up at him and shake my head.
“Was it about Noah?” Mohammad asks, his forehead creasing.
My cheeks flush at his question, but I still nod.
“You’re not only part of his past,” Mohammad says, crouched in front of me.
I look down at the floor, embarrassed.
“You were right. It was just a dream,” I say, looking up to Mohammad. “It was only a dream.”
“I’ll order us food. Then, we can watch the sunrise, okay?” Mohammad puts his hands on my knees and holds my gaze.
“Sure.” I nod.
“Take a shower. You’ll feel better. And if not, I’m sure a coffee will cheer you up.” Mohammad gives me an encouraging grin before walking out of the bathroom and closing the door behind him.
I sit for a moment, letting the bathroom fill up with steam. When the mirror starts to fog, I peel off my damp clothes and get into the shower. The water is hot against my skin, but it feels nice. I squeeze shower gel into my hand and rub it down over my arms, and then I cradle my arms, comforting myself.
Because that dream really got to me.
And normally, they don’t. I know they’re dreams. I know they’re a part of myself. They’re my interpretations, my worries, my insecurities. They’re all about me, coming from me. But in the moment, it didn’t feel like that. It felt like I was going crazy. I felt stuck.
And I guess, last night, I felt like that with Noah. I felt like we weren’t going anywhere. I felt like he was slipping out of my grasp.
Again.
I sit down on the shower floor, bringing my knees up to my chest, and let myself cry. I have to get it out now, before I go back out to the girls. To Mohammad.
Eventually, I stand back up. I feel shaky, but I wash and condition my hair anyway. When I’m finished, I pat myself dry with a towel.
I brush through my hair and pull on a robe, looking at my reflection.
I look tired.
I have dark circles under my eyes.
I break my own gaze, flip off the light switch, and walk out of the bathroom.
“Mohammad’s ordering breakfast,” Naomi sings when she sees me. She’s sitting up in bed, and she looks wide-awake.
“Good for him. Some of us are trying to sleep,” Olivia grumbles next to her. She’s curled into a ball in the middle of the bed. And it doesn’t look like she’s going to get up anytime soon.
“Feel better?” Mohammad asks, joining us in the bedroom. He’s still shirtless and in his basketball shorts, like he was last night. But his shorts are sitting lower on his hips this morning, and he has bedhead.
“Yeah,” I say, trying to sound convincing as I force a smile on my face.
“Good. Food’s on the way,” he replies, walking back into the sitting room.
I turn my attention to Naomi.
Oh my god, she mouths to me, fanning her face.
Apparently, I wasn’t the only one to notice Mohammad was still shirtless this morning. I smile at her just as Mohammad pops his head back in.