Prey Drive by Jen Stevens
Chapter 9
the lamb
a pounding in my head, my mouth completely dry.
I hate this part. The getting drunk part is fun. The being drunk part is great. But the hangover? That always leaves me promising myself I'll never do it again.
My alarm doesn't go off, so instead of nursing the hangover the way I want to, I'm forced to scramble around and get ready for my Saturday shift at Old Soul as my head and stomach protest. I'm chugging water and throwing the first pair of jeans I can find, cursing myself for drinking so many Trulys instead of just going to bed like a normal fucking person.
I run a brush through my hair and speed out the door, determined not to disappoint Rosie when I've been having such a successful streak. After breaking several laws and possibly running over a bunny, I'm walking through the front doors at the exact time my shift starts.
“You're late,” Rosie barks, but there's no one in the cafe to hear or wait on.
“No, I'm right on time.” I round the counter and grab my apron, quickly throwing it over my head. With my hands on my hips, I look over at the clock above to prove my point. It's exactly 8 a.m. Right when I'm scheduled to start.
Rosie huffs out a laugh, shaking her head. “Fine, you win.”
I don't even attempt to hide my triumphant smile. “What did I miss?”
“Nothing at all,” she says in a heavy sigh. “Just the usual morning rush.”
Toying with the syrups lined against the back wall, I admit, “I got drunk alone and had the weirdest dream last night about a guy in my house.”
I can't help the word vomit. The dream has been bothering me all morning, and I need someone to talk to about it to prove I'm not going crazy.
Well, not that crazy.
She cuts her gaze to me from the opposite end of the counter. “Should you be drinking?”
I shoot her an incredulous look. “Of course, I can drink. I went to Sunnybrook for attempted suicide, not an alcohol addiction. And besides, I didn't even really try to commit suicide in the first place. I shouldn't have even gone there…” I explain for what feels like the millionth time.
It doesn't matter how many times I scream from the top of my lungs that I don't want to die, people will think what they want either way. Especially with the black mark of Sunnybrook on my record.
Rosie holds up her hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. It was all an accident, I get it. So what about this dream?”
I blow out a breath, calming myself from the spike in adrenaline. I shouldn't get this upset, but I've grown so tired of living under a microscope and having my every move questioned since that miserable day. Still, Rosie doesn't deserve to have that anger taken out on her. Especially when she's still dealing with the aftereffects of her own sister's unsuccessful attempt.
Genny is, without a doubt, living with one foot on the other side.
Finally, I'm calm enough to explain, “I don't even know. There was a random hot stalker guy in my room, watching me. It felt so real, though.”
I leave out the part about a creepy guy standing in my backyard and the terrifying thought that the two incidents might be related. I’m still processing that detail, and I’d rather consider some other alternative than my stalker possibly coming into my house and watching me finger myself. Isn’t it more realistic to believe that I may have had some distorted wet dream?
Yeah, I don't think so either.
“Are you sure it wasn't real?”
“I'm here, aren't I?” I joke, holding my arms out. “If there was an intruder in my house, I'd probably be dead.”
Or half my stuff would be missing. Well, half of the house's stuff. I don't own anything of value. And as far as I could tell, everything was untouched this morning. I’ve already considered that as a possibility.
“True.” Her lips tip up in a smile. “So, like, a lucid dream, then. One you can interact with and control. I've never had one, but I have a friend who trained himself to lucid dream every night.”
“Yeah! I've never done that before. It was kind of hot.” My teeth graze my bottom lip as I recall how the dream-man touched me, allowing myself to fall headfirst into this theory. The way his eyes darkened while they tracked my hand between my legs.
I squirm against the counter, tightening my thighs together at the memory. That was definitely a dream. I haven't been with a man since well before I was taken to Sunnybrook. Even then, it wasn't nearly as arousing.
Rosie doesn't seem to notice the direction of my thoughts. Instead, she's focusing on the customer who just walked through the door, and I busy myself with washing the smoothie pitchers sitting in the sink.
Lucid dreaming, huh? I'll have to look more into that.