"I'm not going to lie. She's not exactly thrilled you and I are hanging out. But for other reasons." His voice moves closer. "A blanket," he says and I'm draped in soft, blue fleece. I feel safe. Like I'm wrapped on all sides in a secret version of Gray Porter's lime scented heaven.

"Truth is easier. But it's also a b.u.mmer...don't you think?" I ask.

"What do you mean?" His voice sounds tight like an over-stretched rubber band.

I open my eyes.

The room and he are slightly out of focus. I know I shouldn't answer him without planning what I should say, but right now I'm too tired to mask anything. "Look. Until just a few minutes ago, I got to be the first girl Gray Porter ever brought home. It was awesome to get to be that girl, even for a moment. I didn't like to disappoint your grandmother, that's all. So...if I'm feeling bad that she knows the truth, you probably also feel like c.r.a.p right now."

When I catch his expression he looks stunned, like I've dead-on read his mind. And that he might be worried that I'm feeling like c.r.a.p.

Quickly, I try to recant the implication that this has hurt me in any way. "Don't worry about it. I'm good. Now I can imagine now how it will be when one day you really do bring a first-girl home. Gran will get over this. We all will, I suppose. It's such a strange situation. And bound to get awkward eventually, huh?" I add in a small, careless sounding laugh, only I suddenly want to cry so much my throat burns.

That happens too when I'm over-tired.

"Jess...no. You've misunderstood completely." He drops to his knees beside the bed. "Don't say that. I have so much I want to tell you. You are-I mean I want you to know-I told Gran that you're-" He looks away and runs both hands through his hair. "How can I say this? I don't know where to start."

I close my eyes. His face-the adorable chin divot-the intensity of his eyes is altogether too overwhelming from this viewpoint. "Please, stop. I'm too tired to listen. I'm good. I shouldn't have made you feel bad about things. It's all right. Whatever you told Gran about me being crazy couldn't even scratch the surface of what's real about me. Not much gets to me. Crazy people have really thick skin."

"I hate that you think that about yourself."

"I hate that you never believe me." I curl onto my side and face him. "But...don't feel sorry for me. Not like the others do. Like my parents, like your gran just did. I couldn't stand it if you suddenly treated me like that."

"Why?"

"Because you've always treated me...differently. Better. Like I'm just fine. Fine the way I am."

"You are! Better than fine. And just the way you are. Jess, you're awesome. There's a lot you don't know. I need to tell you so much."

"No. I just want sleep. If I didn't feel so positively like dying right now, I'd suspect you might be crazy like me. My head kills so badly. I think it's your fault. I know it's your fault. All that spinning me around the rink, feeding me only c.o.ke and cookies? It did me in. Stop trying to make me think, and let me sleep. Just a bit."

He lets out a long, heavy sounding sigh. "Sleep. It will give me a chance to figure out a way to say things better."

He shifts forward onto his knees and moves my hair back from my brow and temples, letting his fingers trail into my hair, over and over. I open my eyes again at that, but I don't say anything because I'm afraid he might stop. It feels so nice.

He says, "But when you wake up you have to let me talk. About the truth."

I shake my head *no' and reach up and grip his forearm. Desperate. "Gray..." I'm afraid to ask him this question but I have no other choice. My level of exhaustion is terrifying to me. I meet his gaze.

"What is it?" he frowns, concerned.

"You have to wake me up if you think I'm having a dream. Any dream at all. It's dark outside and I...you know. Please. It's important. Don't leave me here alone."

He nods and his face goes pale. "Of course. Don't worry."

"Promise?"

He takes in a deep breath and gently takes my hand, giving it a squeeze. "I'm not going anywhere. Because when you wake up, we are going to talk." His voice already sounds too far away. My eyelids feel as though someone or something is turning a crank to force them shut.

"Just don't leave me. Please."

Wait. Don't leave me. Please don't leave me here.

A white sheet floats suspended over me like a cloud...like a snowstorm, a shroud.

It descends over my body and I'm cold. Afraid. Alone.

Wait. Don't leave me. Please don't leave me here!

I fight and claw against the white but I can't move my arms or my legs. Terror sets in.

I do not want this. I do not want to be here. I shouldn't fall asleep. I think Gray's hand is still holding mine ...but the white has already taken over and I'm crying but I mustn't... I shouldn't... I need to stay in control.

Gray, please. Don't leave me. Please!

You're a very lucky girl. Lucky. Lucky girl.

Let's go. Dude. Nothing happened. Let's go.

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I can't untie the knot.

I'm sorry. Jess. I'm so sorry... Jess...

"I'm sorry. Jess. I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

Someone's screaming and crying. Is that me?

I open my eyes. Gray is holding my hand and his eyes... his face... his voice are inside me and outside of me all at the same time.

Oh G.o.d. His voice. His face. Why is he here? He looks as frightened as I feel. I don't understand anything beyond the images pulsing through me. A silver belt buckle. Seash.e.l.ls in a crystal bowl. The line of my own blood seeping down my arm. I can't figure out what's real. I let my gaze travel past Gray's face to the room. I'm searching for my clock, my jellyfish lamp. My posters. The shaking sets in like I've been hit with a train.

Suddenly the sounds in the room are all too loud as I realize what's happening.

I'm crying uncontrollably. Awake in Gray Porter's room. He's holding my hand and I've had a terrible nightmare. I'm not okay.

I try to gain control of my body but it's too late. I'm crying so hard I can hardly begin the counting...one... two... three...

Everything goes black as the nausea sets in and my stomach rolls. I bite the insides of my cheeks as hard as possible.

Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

I haven't vomited after this stupid nightmare for almost two years. No way am I going to do it in Gray Porter's bed!

Nine. Breathe. Ten. Breathe. Eleven. Breathe. Twelve...

My focus clears a little when I reach 100. For the first time, I notice Gray's grandmother is standing in the doorway. Her face is distorted with anguish, fear and possibly repulsion.

All for me.

Gray hasn't left my side. His mouth has been moving constantly. I strive to make sense of his words.

"You were sleeping so deeply-and then-s.h.i.t. Jess. Talk to me. I'm so sorry," he says, like this is somehow his fault.

Make him stop saying that!

I want to scream as the images return: The police officer's gun snapped to his side, a blue tie on my wrist and white. Too much white.

I purse my lips and work to swallow the lump of bile.

I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.

You're a very lucky girl.

I'm going crazy. Someone help me stop my thoughts. The images. Stop everything.

I place my hands over my ears and press as tightly as I can until my ears throb. I count and count until the only sound I hear is a rushing river of buzzing. Until floating numbers are the only images flashing through my head.

I take stock of what I can feel which is mostly a terrible ache in my bones from trying to suppress all my shaking. My heart hurts as well.

There is also Gray's hand gently smoothing-smoothing-smoothing the hair against my temple. Knowing Gray has already seen the worst, I meet his gaze and let the tears fall unchecked.

"Shh. Shh. You're okay. Jess. You're okay. It's over."

I cry until the pillow under my head is soaked-until I reach number 789. But still the terror won't fade away. I wonder if there's a possibility I'm on the brink of remembering, or if this is simply me, running through the last shreds of my sanity. If I've transposed Gray all the way into the end of my nightmare then I've gone over the edge. I'll never be better. I'm worse. Way worse.

789 is beyond any number I've ever recorded. Maybe I'd gone too far, not sleeping and imagining things I shouldn't. Like, me being with Gray.

And now, whether I'm asleep or awake, I can't sort out what is real and what is not.

I cry louder. Harder. This is totally my fault.

"Honey. Are you going to be okay?" Gray's grandmother moves closer to the bed.

No. No. I'm never going to be okay. Never!

I continue to sob and count. I'm at 862, with no end in sight.

G.o.d, how I want my jellyfish lamp right now.

"Jess. I'm right here. Look at me. You're not alone. I'm here." His hand is the only thing that feels right in this whole mess. I work to focus on the little specks in his irises. I tell myself to wait until I see the gold appear, and then I'll be able to talk.

"Jess. Can you hear me?" I grip his hand and hope he understands that I do.

He's using the back of his other hand to gently wipe away some tears. "Don't cry anymore. It's breaking my heart. Should I call your parents? Nod if you need them here."

I shake my head and stare only at his eyes. They're helping.

"I'm going to call an ambulance and her parents. I think she's having some sort of breakdown. Gray, this could be dangerous." Gran walks nearer and bends toward my face. "Honey. Can you hear me? Give us some sign that you can hear us. Please."

I gasp, trying hard. "Almost over. Wait. D-don't call anyone." I finally find the strength to pull in a full breath. The images fade slightly and the shaking begins to subside. "I'm okay," I manage to lie.

I stopped at 932. There's nothing okay about 932.

"I screamed." My throat feels like shredded sandpaper. "That was me, right?"

"Yes. But mostly you cried. I couldn't wake you." Gray's voice is shaking too. He looks so distraught, I feel sorry for him.

Though I'm not near ready, I sit up, hoping to a.s.sure him and Gran that I'm okay.

It's a mistake. The room and the bed spin in opposite directions. The black spots return with a vengeance. I can't balance at all. Gray moves to sit beside me, places his arm around my shoulders and draws me into him. "Jesus. Hang on." He says, voice lower than low and tightens his grip.

"Don't worry, I know how to do this," I lie again, leaning all of my weight on him, beyond grateful that he's there.

Gray grabs the blanket, covers me back into the soft blue warmth and rests his chin on my head.

"I've got you."

Gran appears, offering me a damp washcloth. I take it and wipe my face. "Thanks."

"This happens often?" Gran asks.

"Gran! She doesn't have to talk about it. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, Jess." Gray takes the washcloth out of my motionless hand and wipes away the latest flood of silent tears.

I meet Gran's gaze. "The screaming started this summer, but the nightmare is not. Unfortunately the crying part is a constant, lucky side effect. Sorry you had to witness it." I pull in a ragged breath. "I've gone through endless variations. When I wake up, it's always like this. Shaking, zero balance, inability to walk or speak. But not for long. You'll see. It's almost over."

I eek out a small smile and try to make light of it, but my voice is not quite ready to rally into quip mode. I sound like a rusted gate, as I continue, "I'm like a CD that plays only one song. One with a skip in it. It's not so bad. Really. Lots of people have recurring nightmares. I'm just one of millions, I suppose. Hope I didn't scare you too much."

Gray's breath moves the hair on top of my head. I wonder what he and his Grandmother really think now that they've seen me like this.

"I'm... um... do you have anything I could drink?" I ask, when neither seems able to respond.

"Oh. You poor, poor dear. I'll go re-warm that pot of tea. Gray, will you be okay with her alone?" Her voice says she thinks there's still a chance I'm going to float up to the ceiling, let my head spin around, and spit knives at him or something. I feel him nod. When Gran leaves the room, I lay my head on Gray's warm shoulder and close my eyes.

He holds me like this until the shaking stops.

He holds me until I can't imagine facing another nightmare without him holding me-just like this. I shudder at that thought. It's a bad thing for me to stay in his arms, feeling this safe and good. I need to stop leaning on him. When did I start relying on him so much? He's made me so weak. I can't find the girl I used to be before I'd hired him. The one who'd been able to haul loads of personal c.r.a.p around all alone and still maintain a 4.0 GPA.

The girl who is not and never was in love with Gray Porter.

This guy being my boyfriend is fiction, so my love must be fictional too. Right? I have to close the book and find myself again.

I pull away from him. With the terror gone, all that's left is my shame. I think I s...o...b..red gallons of tears onto his pillow and shirt. I'm also embarra.s.sed because of how I still feel about a boyfriend that isn't even real. I suppose that might never go away. I mean, I still love Mr. Darcy, and it's been years since I read that book.