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Skye surfaced from roaring waves with a start, struggling for a moment to recognise that the darkness hemming her in was just her bedroom. Smooth sheets, not icy water, brushed her skin that prickled with goosebumps.
Her heart hammered, and her breathing was rapid. Her dreams: the figure in them was closer. She was terrified, but intrigued. More than intrigued. The angel... She wanted to see him properly. What would happen if ever he reached her? She blinked up at the ceiling, her hand pressed against her chest. The sense that something was drawing nearer was more distinct. She lay wakeful until it was time to get up.
It was the last day of school. Coffee was a necessity as well as a pleasure, and Skye gratefully poured a steaming cup from the pot her father had made. As it often did, the coffee’s fragrant aroma made her think of Morgan, who boasted about her great barista skills. Skye would kill for one of her works of genius right now. It was almost worth the long bus trip back to Bannimor just for that. The holidays began tomorrow. Should she go back?
The glistening Bay rippled into her mind, and her heart felt like it was pressing against her ribcage, trying to reach back to the ocean. The ocean. Its waves closing over her, pushing her down, swallowing her alive. Her pulse became a tattoo of fear, and she gripped her mug tightly.
Her dad was in a good mood this morning, preparing her a hot breakfast. Which normally would have been great, she thought, piercing the perfect golden yoke of her poached egg. But her head ached from over-thinking her haunting dream. Surly silence would have been preferable this morning. At least once he sat down, he had his morning paper to distract him from conversing.
That angel... Could she subliminally be putting Brent into her dreams? A snigger of laughter escaped her, luckily unnoticed by her dad. That was a ‘no’, without hesitation. He was nice and all, but... Her thoughts returned to the shadowy, mysterious figure of her dream, and a feeling she couldn’t define shivered pleasurably through her midriff. Was she losing it? They were nightmares. She was definitely losing it.
