––––––––
Liam dropped me on my feet, grasping my arm to keep me upright. I opened my mouth to yell at him, but shut it when I realized we were in my room. As in exactly where we were five seconds ago when Nevin was glaring all scarily at me.
Except this wasn’t my room. Not exactly, anyway.
There were discrete differences, like the hot pink t-shirt that hung on the back of the computer chair. I had a lime one just like it at home. The curtains were purple—mine were blue.
But it was my room, with a picture of Mom and me on the wall. Only we weren’t in Florida. I squinted. Is that the Eiffel Tower?
I’d never been to France.
Liam prowled to the hall door and threw it open. I half expected Nevin to come barreling through it, fully ready to murder me. “We’re safe here for a while,” he said. “No one will be home until three.” He wandered to the window and pulled open the shade. Outside the sky was a cloudless blue, the sun a heavy purple orb riding high in the afternoon sky. There was no snow. In fact, other than the purple sun, it looked exactly like a summer day at my house.
I squeaked.
I was dreaming, I decided. My mind was overexcited with the snow day and decided to gift me with really strange dreams. It had given me Liam, after all. And he was totally hot and make-out worthy. Oh, and Nevin, the murdering psychopath.
The picture caught my eye again.
I crossed to it and pulled it off the wall, holding it close to my face. That was me all right, same stupid red hair and smattering of freckles. But it wasn’t me—couldn’t be. The girl smiling at me, the one with my face, she had two arms.
My gaze wandered to my stump.
“You’re wondering if you’re dreaming?” Liam asked, standing right behind me. I jumped and whirled. My face was just inches from his. A slow grin spread across his lips as if he was enjoying my delusions.
Oh well, he was just a figment of my imagination anyway, and my imagination had done really well with him. He was all broad shoulders and slim hips. He had a cute little dimple in his right cheek. Plus he wore really expensive designer jeans and black boots that somehow mixed combat with style. My dream had even added in my penchant for well-dressed bad-asses. Awesome.
“No. I know I’m dreaming.” I had to look up to meet his steady blue-eyed gaze, but I pretty much have to look up to everyone. His eyes were darker than mine, more sea deep than pale blue. People always told me my eyes were eerie. It came with being a Ginger. There was an entire following that was terrified of us. I’d googled it once.
Liam’s face turned serious. “Want me to pinch you?” He curled his fingers into pincers and held them close to my face. I rolled my eyes. Apparently my subconscious couldn’t come up with a better pick-up line than that.
Sliding my fingers to the back of his neck, I pulled his face closer to mine. Hopefully he kissed well, because he really didn’t seem all that smart. I wished for once my dreams would get it exactly right: a smart, attractive boy who was a really, really good kisser.
His mouth opened slightly with surprise when I pressed my lips to his. He recovered, however, his hands fisting into the shoulders of my penguin t-shirt. They trailed lower, down my arms—well, arm. The other stopped at the end of my stump, tracing the shiny scar. Until that point, my stomach curled quite nicely with desire, his lips moving in perfect synchronization with mine.
I pulled away, self-conscious. Usually in my dreams I had both of my arms. Actually, I always had two arms when I dreamed.
With a wicked grin, Liam pinched my bicep.
“Ouch!” I pushed him away. “That hurt.”
He tilted his head to the side as though examining a particularly interesting Petri dish. His hair shifted and fell over his eye. “That’s because you’re not dreaming, Princess.”
I glared at him, hand on my hip. “Of course I am. Hot guys do not make out with me in real life.”
“And why is that?” A smile turned the corner of his mouth up, but his tone wasn’t mocking.
I stomped to the window and stared at the purple sun. It was pretty, casting a serene violet glow. I expected hot pink grass or hovercrafts, but everything else looked suspiciously normal. “Don’t go all Dr. Phil on me, okay?” I turned back to him, but he hadn’t moved.
“I’m serious.”
I examined his face, the shuttered blue eyes framed by thick blond lashes, the perfect body, and the clothes that looked like they were sewn on him. His t-shirt clung to his shoulders, and his arms were roped with muscles. Thank God for my subconscious.
“Are you Helen Keller?” I asked finally. He snorted but didn’t answer. “Look, can we just make out until I wake up? Obviously you’re not all that great at conversation, and swimming is out since I only have one arm.” Liam blinked at me. “Am I speaking the wrong language?” I demanded.
“I know you’re overwhelmed by my good looks, but you’ve really got to understand that you’re not dreaming.” He crossed to me and put his hands on my shoulders. “We can make out until three, okay? And then the Gavyn that lives here is going to come home and we’re gonna be in a shitload of trouble.” He leaned in closer, but I ducked away.
“What do you mean, the Gavyn that lives here? This is my house.” I looked around the strangely familiar room again. “Sort of.”
“This is your house, but this isn’t where you live.”
I sighed and plopped onto the comforter that was covered with brightly frosted cupcakes. That, at least, was the same. “I am so confused. This dream sucks.”
Liam sat next to me. “Princess, I’ve got some bad news.”
“Stop calling me Princess.”
“Well, I’m for damn sure your knight in shining armor.”
I rolled my eyes. “Do your dumb pick-up lines usually work?”
His face split into a large Cheshire-cat smile. “Always. My startlingly perfect physique and suave mannerisms usually help.”
I gazed at him soberly. “And when is that gonna start happening?”
He shook his head, smiling and ignoring my insults. “Seriously. You’re not dreaming.” He took my hand and pressed it to his face. “See? I’m real.” He touched my face with his own warm and rough palm. “And so are you. I already pinched you, but apparently you don’t believe that trick.”
A sinking sensation rippled through my stomach. “And I only have one arm.”
He raised a light eyebrow.
The realization hit me with the force of a freight train, slamming into me and leaving me terrified. “I’m not dreaming.”
“Good. The first step is admitting you have a problem.” He snickered.
“What the hell is so funny?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. You. Life. Everything. What isn’t funny?”
I glared at him, anger bubbling up inside my chest. “The fact that I am seriously freaking out right now.”
He sighed, and his expression lost all humor. “Do you believe that you’re not dreaming?”
I inspected his face, trying to decide if I did. I mean, even if I was dreaming, I’d wake up eventually. Why not just go along with his crazy mutterings? He didn’t seem like he would hurt me. “Fine, I’m not dreaming.”
“Though really, if I were you, I’d prefer to be dreaming if I was a girl named Gavyn.”
I threw up my arm and flailed my stub. Glaring once more at Liam, who sat there looking smug and pleased with himself, I stomped from the room. Maybe there were other boys here, ones that knew when to shut up. Ones who were beautiful and smart. Ones who just wanted to make out and not make fun of me. I definitely couldn’t find any of those in reality. I’d never even kissed a boy. Not for real. They hardly ever spoke to me or even looked in my direction.
Stupid Ginger.
I came up short in the hallway and Liam ran into me, his arm automatically going around my waist to keep me from pitching forward and falling to my death. I stumbled onto the banister that overlooked the living room. The furniture was rich reds and deep browns, leather and maple. At the end of the hall where there should’ve been a small family room, there was a door. Pasted on that door was the name EMILY in giant foam letters. My stomach clenched and tears filled my eyes.
Somehow still intrigued, I walked to it and pushed the door open. The room was a cacophony of colors, unicorns, flowers, and butterflies.
“Don’t touch anything,” Liam warned. He hadn’t moved from the hallway. “Please,” he added as an afterthought.
“Emily,” I whispered, standing frozen in the doorway, staring at what would have been my sister’s room—had she lived.
When I was ten, my mother got pregnant accidentally, since she’d never had a real boyfriend since my dad left. I’d known all about the birds and the bees, but I’d never once seen her bring someone home with her. Anyway, after a long, thirty-some-hour labor, Emily was stillborn.
This was cruel. A cruel dream.
Reaching around me, Liam pulled the door shut. “Will you please let me explain?” Gone was the cocky sureness with which he carried himself. Something else marred his face now: worry.
Guilt.
He took my hand gently and pulled me back to the bedroom. My almost bedroom. He tugged the shade shut, blocking out the purple sun. I settled on the bed, feeling numb and hollow. I hardly ever dreamed about Emily.
Liam sat next to me and after fidgeting with his hands, he folded them into his lap. “Look, there are some things I need to explain to you before this world’s Gavyn comes home. Are you ready to listen?”
This world?
I wanted to make a sarcastic comment about Star Wars or something, but I couldn’t seem to come up with anything. Deflated, I nodded. Liam pressed his lips together, as if he actually regretted what he was about to do.