ISLA
As soon as I woke up, I knew that I needed to do something to distract myself.
The bond was already there, sitting in my chest with a warmth that had a quality to it. A texture.
The 3AM dream came back to me in pieces.
In very, very, vivid pieces.
The terrace. His voice. The moment he said run and my sleeping brain, without asking permission, had decided I didn’t.
I pressed my face into the pillow and screamed just a little to release some tension.
On the other end of the bond there was the specific texture of someone who had not slept. Someone who had been both aware and present.
He knew.
Goddess, he knew way too much.
The bond carried it both ways. Always. Without filter, without mercy, without the basic consideration of letting a person have one private dream.
Gide
