Dreamers (The Dreamers Series) (5 page)

“I think you’re an arrogant asshole. I have no use for you at all.”

“Don’t fool yourself.” He taps his finger on my temple. “I’m in here, remember?”

“Certainly not because I want you there.” I firmly avoid eye contact, realizing he is correct in his words. He is undeniable. My strength waivers like a buoy in a hurricane. His ability to get in my head and twist my feelings around is infuriating.

“Can we please just get back to the real issue here? You still haven’t said what you want from me. How can I help you?”

I relent and lead the conversation back into safe waters.

“I need you to step up your relationship with Heather.”

The awkwardness of what he is asking of me sinks in. What on Earth would Dominick have to gain by Heather and I being in a relationship? The whole thing reeks of bullshit.

“How could that possibly help your situation?” I ask.

“Because, she will respond best to you. I’m not really her type,” he remarks.

“I think I’ve pretty much figured that out already. She is my friend. What makes you think I would ever manipulate her into a relationship with me JUST because you asked me to? Do you have any idea how much that would hurt her? Not that you care.”

“Hurt who? Romeo? Ahh, she’ll be fine. She’s been swooning over you forever. I’m sure she’ll be over the moon.”

“Even if that were true, what happens when this is all over and she finds out it was all just an act? That WILL hurt her. Find another girl to do your dirty work.”

“It has to be you. You’re her weakness.” He appears disgusted.

“How do you figure that?”

“I had access to her subconscious long enough to know. You’ve been in her head—always.”

“What is it that you are asking me to do exactly?”

“She knows something about my death. I need you to get in there, distract her, and then disarm her.”

“Why don’t you just go jump in her head yourself; you’re doing a pretty good job poking around through mine.”

“I can’t access her dreams anymore. I don’t know why. I need someone else to break through whatever wall she’s built. Lana was a joke. Even a lonely dyke didn’t want her crazy ass.” He laughs. “This is where you come in—Saint Sydney.”

“I’m no saint.”

“Romeo seems to think you are. That’s all that matters,” he shrugs casually.

“I’m confused as to how snuggling up to Heather is going to help you get answers. Heather doesn’t know anything about you. Not to mention, I can’t read minds like you can. We aren’t all freaks.”

“I know you read Lana’s journal. Heather knows something. And I don’t need you to read her mind, I just need you to figure out why I can’t. Maybe she is on some kind of medication or somehow found a way to block me out. I don’t really know, but you are going to get her mind so tangled that she won’t have the strength to block me out anymore. I want to go home, wherever that is, and you’re going to help me.”

It’s obvious that his patience is wearing thin. He sighs loudly and looks bored by my presence. His confidence is wavering, which is a good thing for me. He could use to be knocked down a couple of notches. Yet somehow, as arrogant and cocky as he is, I still can’t help but feel sadness for him. I can’t imagine being stuck in a world of death, not knowing where home is. The decent person within me is screaming to get out. I have to help him—asshole or not. Although, I won’t hurt Heather for him. She doesn’t deserve that.

“Can’t I try a different way, without screwing with her mind?”

He looks intrigued, yet distracted. Something is bogging him down. Maybe spirits are only allotted a limited amount of energy. He appears burnt out over the last few minutes.

“Sydney, her mind is the problem. She is guarding a secret about my death. She’s locked it away and internally buried the key somewhere. You can’t just ask her; you’ll have to weed it out.”

“And you’re convinced that seducing her is the only way?”

“Not the ONLY way, but certainly the quickest. Consider the ridiculous things people will do for lust. They forfeit self-preservation, caution, and any sense of reason—reacting strictly on impulse. That’s the point I need you to take her to, so I can bust my way in while her guard is down.”

“There is a major malfunction in your plan. Heather isn’t the lusty type, she’s more of a Casanova. This is not going to work. Did you not see the reaction she had to Lana? She was totally put off by all that kinky shit.”

“Lana isn’t YOU. You’re sexy without trying—naturally seductive.”

He eyes me up and down, shooting lightning bolts down my stomach. A pained look crosses his face so brief that I might have missed it if I’d blinked. A frustrated sigh blows from his partially separated lips.

“All you have to do is to throw a little oxygen on the fire,” he finishes.

I consider the words he has thrust on my shoulders, as well as consider the consequences of cooperating. I don’t know how I really feel about Heather yet. I can’t sort through what is real and what’s been planted. I don’t trust my feelings, and I don’t trust him. He uses things to alter my mind.

He leans against the wall so carefree, watching my face as I think. His peeved expression reveals that he can tell I am wavering—leaning strongly against agreeing to cooperate with his insane plan. It pisses me off that I’m not even safe from my own thoughts.

He approaches slowly, inching closer and closer. I’m beginning to have trouble not running to him, giving him everything he wants. He’s playing my mind against me again. I should be grateful that I am aware that he is screwing with my head, but all I can think of is how delicious he looks when he is displeased with me. Every want inside my body, every need I have ever craved begins to band together, creating a raging inferno within—being oxygenated by a meticulous flow of cool breath from his perfectly shaped lips. I can’t fight him when he knows exactly how to drop me to my knees. The fire spreads downward, hitting every nerve as it slithers through my body like a twisted serpent in a maze of lust. His breathing is rugged, playing like a hypno-song in my ears. The room fills with his scent—strong. Still on my knees I begin crawling to him, no longer able to fight the urge to bow at his feet. He has somehow gained full control of me at this point.

“Stop doing that, Dominick,” I plead.

“No. You seem to be having some trouble making up your mind. You need some convincing. And look me in the eye when I speak to you,” he demands, and my eyes instinctively lock with his.

“I can’t fight you, please…” As I whisper the words sting my throat. I’m parched for him. He has altered my need into a singing burn. “I want you.”

“Yeah, you like that?” He lowers to the floor, facing me at eye level. “You want this, baby?” His lips graze mine as he exhales painfully slow.

I have to taste him. I can’t stop it. “Yes,” I growl.

My teeth grab his lower lip, breaking through a thin layer of soft tissue. Blood rushes from the wound, fueling the fire that still burns white hot. I suck harder, trying to pull him in, closer than close. I’m an animal with an insatiable hunger that nothing and nobody can satisfy—only him. I push him down, locking his arms into place above his head.

His face contorts in some display of unidentifiable pain as I turn the tables, making him my play thing. He didn’t seem to realize that for every fire his places within me it strengthens me, sending my adrenaline into overdrive.

“That’s enough, Sydney. You’re breaking the rules. I’m in control here.” He throws me off. His breathing choppy. We sit silently for a moment.

“So you make me want you and then throw me away like a piece of trash that’s not good enough for you? Isn’t this what you wanted?” I ask angrily as I attempt to steady my pulse.

“The idea was to show you who’s in control. I think you’re now fully aware of the fact that I can make you do exactly what I want you to do. I don’t need permission, and I don’t need your approval. I was being polite in asking you for help, and not demanding it. In return you sit over there trying to think of ways to get out of it, assuming that I can’t hear what you’re thinking. That was very rude, Sydney.”

“That’s what this is, you teaching me a lesson on respect?” Anger and humiliation coat my words. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me? Why would you make me crave you so harshly, then turn me away? I want you so much right now it’s literally painful,” I admit.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” he whispers.

His words come as a shock as I observe him trying to regain his self-control.

“You said you were going to play nice.” The words come out whinier than I intend. “And your scent is still all over this room. It’s completely intoxicating, it’s driving me nuts.”

He looks sympathetic and begins distancing himself.

“I’ll back up.” He backs out of my vicinity, edging closer to the window where the wind can pull his aroma outside. “Better?”

“Yes,” I answer. “It’s weird, you kinda smell like Heather but way stronger. It makes me want to be closer to you. Why does it do that, is it another trick?”

“We all have things that drive us wild, I guess,” he shrugs. “I don’t know why I smell like this, I just saw that it drove you insane last time we were together. It’s kinda become a habit to continuously keep a leash on you, just in case you start to doubt me again.”

“You’ve made your point, Dominick. I get it.” I regain my posture.

“Please stop calling me that, only my family called me by my whole name. Call me Nick.”

“Considering everything that’s going on I hardly find that significant, but whatever, NICK. Just knock it off with the mind fucks.”

“Look, I’ll play nice from now on, but I need your help. So I will politely ask you again: are you going to cooperate?”

I ponder his words momentarily, choosing my thoughts as carefully as possible. I can’t hide from him here; however, I can play the hand I’ve been dealt. He needs me, not the other way around.

“Let me remind you that you have absolutely no hold over me while I’m awake, so you only hold half the cards, player. You’re not in control of me, and you don’t make the rules where I’m concerned. I will help you because I’m a good person, but only on my terms. I will give you what I want you to have, nothing more.” His face is pricelessly stunned and somewhat entertained. “So, I will offer you this: I will try to dig around and find some answers, but I am not, and never will hurt Heather for you. Take it, leave it, or shove it.” I cross my arms across my chest.

A displeased, yet resolved look covers his pale face. “I’m going to counter your offer,” he arrogantly replies. “I will give you a few days to try it your way, but that’s it. When you find nothing, you WILL do it my way. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” I silently celebrate my first victory. “Now, if I’m going to help you, I will need to know a few things. Can you communicate outside of dreams?”

“No. I can’t seem to breach the waking world for some reason. I can only reach you through your subconscious. The Ouija board is the only other way I’ve found, it seems to tap into a subconscious realm.”

“What about the daydream you breached earlier today, with Heather in the shower?”

“Um, that wasn’t me.” His eyebrow lifts slightly. “Guess I’m not going to have to work too hard on throwing you two together after all.” He suddenly seems curious. “You really like girls? I wouldn’t have pegged you as a lesbian.” He laughs.

I stiffly want to guard my privacy, yet feel the need to explain at the same time. “No, I don’t like girls. Heather is different, she’s more of a dude, you know?”

“No, she’s a girl—a bad one at that. I wouldn’t get too attached to her, she’s dangerous.” He adds.

“No, she is not. She didn’t have anything to do with your murder, death, or however the hell you died. I’m going to prove it.”

“You read Lana’s journal, it’s there in black and white. Lana found something out, and then all of the sudden disappears to a mental hospital. And this is all some strange coincidence, right?”

“Yes, that’s exactly right,” I confidently answer.

“You’re so naïve it’s actually nauseating.” A disgusted look covers his face.

“Sticks and stones, love.” I roll my eyes. “What’s your full name and where are you from?”

“Dominick Chance Manning, I’m from Lawrenceville.”

“Crazy, I’m from Lawrenceville, too. How old are you?”

“I was twenty-seven when I died. I didn’t die in Lawrenceville, though. I died here.”

“In Atlanta?” I make a mental note so I can research him later.

“In this room, actually.” He says matter-of-factly.

Chills run through my body. It makes sense, but I hadn’t even considered that part. “How did you die?”

“I don’t remember much. I remember Mrs. Peyton and I were having a session, she was my psychiatrist. Everything got really blurry. The next thing I know, I wake up here—in a dream, if that makes any sense. Mrs. Peyton’s office is now someone’s home. I don’t even know how long it’s been. The last day I was alive was October Fifteenth of Two Thousand and Ten.”

“Today is October Third, Two Thousand and Twelve.” I fill him in.

“I’ve been in this nightmare for two years, I can’t wake up, and I can’t leave this building. I’m stuck, alone until you fall asleep. You’re the only person I have right now.” His face loses that cockiness, turning somber and lost.