Sheila’s POV
The dream clings to me like damp fabric when I open my eyes. I don’t even move at first. My heart is racing, my throat feels tight, and there’s a thin layer of sweat between my shoulder blades that makes the sheet stick to my skin. The room is dark except for the pale streetlight sneaking through the blinds, striping the walls in uneven shadows.
For a few seconds I can still feel it the heat of his breath at my neck, the way his hand had brushed my jaw in the dream. Brendan. Even in sleep he finds a way to crawl under my skin.
I roll over, pulling the pillow against my chest. My phone buzzes faintly on the nightstand, and I glance at it through half-lidded eyes. It’s almost ten. I must have fallen asleep right after dinner, exhausted and emotionally drained.
The message on
