Deceptions
Page 80
I took the drink and sat on the floor in front of the window. He turned down the lights until they were barely a glow on the ceiling, the room lit by the city outside, the sun fallen, endless lights lifting the darkness. Then he lowered himself, somewhat awkwardly, beside me and began to talk. Gradually, between the drink and the dark and the low and steady rumble of his voice, I relaxed and stretched out on the floor, until, finally, exhaustion won out, and I drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
I woke in Gabriel’s bed, and there was a moment in the confusion of sleep, when I smelled something that reminded me of him—his soap or his shampoo or his own faint smell—that I smiled and reached out, expecting to find him there. Of course he wasn’t, and as soon as I realized what I was doing—and what I was thinking—I jumped up, guilt slapping me as hard as if he’d actually been in bed with me.
I stayed propped up on one arm, breathing hard, pushing aside the fog of sleep, until my heart rate slowed and I could tell myself I’d done nothing wrong, thought nothing wrong. Wak-ing confusion, that was all.
I dropped back onto the pillow, pulled up the sheets, and fell back to sleep.
When the dream came, it was harmless enough. I was wandering through dark and empty halls, searching for Ricky, more annoyed than worried. Something had happened—I couldn’t remember what—and we’d been separated, and I needed to get back to him, which should have been much easier than it seemed. I kept walking and calling and walking and calling . . .
That’s when I fell in the hole. Or it seemed to be a hole, and I seemed to have fallen in, but with the illogic of dreams, I couldn’t quite be sure. One moment I was wandering and the next I was in the dark, and in a full-out panic, the air thinning with each breath as I raced around the room, one hand on the walls, searching for an exit, for a ladder, for a hatch, anything, knowing I wouldn’t find it because I’d been searching for hours and I was trapped here in this box. A huge wooden box. When I realized that’s what it was, I screamed until my throat was raw. I was running around the perimeter of the room one more time when I kicked something. I crouched, feeling around in the pitch-dark. My fingers closed on a thin metal rectangle.
My phone! I fumbled to turn it on, holding my breath until . . .
Yes, it switched on. It had barely any power, but I had a signal. My fingers flew to the keypad, speed-dialing, and I thought I was calling Ricky, but when the name popped up, it was Gabriel’s.
The call nearly went to voice mail before he answered.
“Oh God, thank God.” The words rushed out. “I’m trapped. There’s not much air, and I’ve lost Ricky, and I need your help. I really need your help.”
Silence.
“Gabriel?”
“Yes?”
I gripped the phone tighter and raised my voice. “Can you hear me? I’ll text if you can’t. I don’t have much battery left.”
“I can hear you, Olivia.” His voice was cool, almost icy.
“I need your help. I really, really need your help. I’m trapped—”
“Yes, I heard that.”
“Good. Thank you. I can send you the coordinates—”
“No need.”
“You have them?” I exhaled. “So you’re on your way?”
“No. I’m not.”
The line went dead. I thought I’d lost the battery, but when I looked, I still had a little. I called back, and the line rang and rang and rang, and then he picked up . . . and disconnected. And my phone turned off, plunging me into darkness.
“Gabriel!” I bolted up, his name on my lips. The room was pitch-black, and I couldn’t remember where I was, still half lost in that dream—
The door opened, moonlight flooding around a dark figure.
“Olivia?”
Gabriel started through the doorway, then pulled himself up short and flipped on the light instead.
“Sorry,” I said. “Sorry, sorry.” I ran my hands over my face, trying to banish the dream.
“A vision?”
I shook my head. “Garden-variety nightmare.”
I kept struggling to push the dream away, but it wouldn’t go, alarm and dread swirling in my gut.
“Are we okay?” I asked.
“What?”
I wanted to say, never mind, I was being silly, go on back to sleep, but the words came out anyway. “Is everything okay? With us?”
His brow furrowed, and he said, “Of course,” but there was something in the way he said it, something in his eyes, still too close to sleep, that wall not yet up, letting me catch a flicker that said we weren’t okay, not really.
“Have I done something?”
“What?” He seemed ready to step into the room but again stopped short, his hand on the doorframe now. Keeping his distance.
Something’s wrong . . .
No, it’s not. You’re in his bed. He’s doing the right thing, the proper thing. Staying out.
I’m in Gabriel’s bed.
Oh God, what am I doing? I shouldn’t be here. Not in his apartment. Not in his bed. It doesn’t matter if he’s over there. It doesn’t matter if there hasn’t been a word, a touch, even a look between us. I’ve crossed a line. I know I have, and that’s what counts. Not what I’ve done. What I feel.
“Olivia?” He took a half step in, his hand still firmly on the doorframe. “What did you see?”
“You left.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
I woke in Gabriel’s bed, and there was a moment in the confusion of sleep, when I smelled something that reminded me of him—his soap or his shampoo or his own faint smell—that I smiled and reached out, expecting to find him there. Of course he wasn’t, and as soon as I realized what I was doing—and what I was thinking—I jumped up, guilt slapping me as hard as if he’d actually been in bed with me.
I stayed propped up on one arm, breathing hard, pushing aside the fog of sleep, until my heart rate slowed and I could tell myself I’d done nothing wrong, thought nothing wrong. Wak-ing confusion, that was all.
I dropped back onto the pillow, pulled up the sheets, and fell back to sleep.
When the dream came, it was harmless enough. I was wandering through dark and empty halls, searching for Ricky, more annoyed than worried. Something had happened—I couldn’t remember what—and we’d been separated, and I needed to get back to him, which should have been much easier than it seemed. I kept walking and calling and walking and calling . . .
That’s when I fell in the hole. Or it seemed to be a hole, and I seemed to have fallen in, but with the illogic of dreams, I couldn’t quite be sure. One moment I was wandering and the next I was in the dark, and in a full-out panic, the air thinning with each breath as I raced around the room, one hand on the walls, searching for an exit, for a ladder, for a hatch, anything, knowing I wouldn’t find it because I’d been searching for hours and I was trapped here in this box. A huge wooden box. When I realized that’s what it was, I screamed until my throat was raw. I was running around the perimeter of the room one more time when I kicked something. I crouched, feeling around in the pitch-dark. My fingers closed on a thin metal rectangle.
My phone! I fumbled to turn it on, holding my breath until . . .
Yes, it switched on. It had barely any power, but I had a signal. My fingers flew to the keypad, speed-dialing, and I thought I was calling Ricky, but when the name popped up, it was Gabriel’s.
The call nearly went to voice mail before he answered.
“Oh God, thank God.” The words rushed out. “I’m trapped. There’s not much air, and I’ve lost Ricky, and I need your help. I really need your help.”
Silence.
“Gabriel?”
“Yes?”
I gripped the phone tighter and raised my voice. “Can you hear me? I’ll text if you can’t. I don’t have much battery left.”
“I can hear you, Olivia.” His voice was cool, almost icy.
“I need your help. I really, really need your help. I’m trapped—”
“Yes, I heard that.”
“Good. Thank you. I can send you the coordinates—”
“No need.”
“You have them?” I exhaled. “So you’re on your way?”
“No. I’m not.”
The line went dead. I thought I’d lost the battery, but when I looked, I still had a little. I called back, and the line rang and rang and rang, and then he picked up . . . and disconnected. And my phone turned off, plunging me into darkness.
“Gabriel!” I bolted up, his name on my lips. The room was pitch-black, and I couldn’t remember where I was, still half lost in that dream—
The door opened, moonlight flooding around a dark figure.
“Olivia?”
Gabriel started through the doorway, then pulled himself up short and flipped on the light instead.
“Sorry,” I said. “Sorry, sorry.” I ran my hands over my face, trying to banish the dream.
“A vision?”
I shook my head. “Garden-variety nightmare.”
I kept struggling to push the dream away, but it wouldn’t go, alarm and dread swirling in my gut.
“Are we okay?” I asked.
“What?”
I wanted to say, never mind, I was being silly, go on back to sleep, but the words came out anyway. “Is everything okay? With us?”
His brow furrowed, and he said, “Of course,” but there was something in the way he said it, something in his eyes, still too close to sleep, that wall not yet up, letting me catch a flicker that said we weren’t okay, not really.
“Have I done something?”
“What?” He seemed ready to step into the room but again stopped short, his hand on the doorframe now. Keeping his distance.
Something’s wrong . . .
No, it’s not. You’re in his bed. He’s doing the right thing, the proper thing. Staying out.
I’m in Gabriel’s bed.
Oh God, what am I doing? I shouldn’t be here. Not in his apartment. Not in his bed. It doesn’t matter if he’s over there. It doesn’t matter if there hasn’t been a word, a touch, even a look between us. I’ve crossed a line. I know I have, and that’s what counts. Not what I’ve done. What I feel.
“Olivia?” He took a half step in, his hand still firmly on the doorframe. “What did you see?”
“You left.”
