Leah
"Hey," he whispered.
I turned my head.
He was lying on his stomach beside me, his head on the pillow, watching me like he always used to.
His black hair fell over his eyes. Eyes I'd spent years trying to forget.
The thin scar that cut through his right eyebrow and down his cheek was still there. I used to trace it with my fingers while he slept.
"Did you get the life you wanted after killing me?" He asked.
My heart ached. "Yes."
He chuckled. "Then why do you keep bringing me into your dreams, doll?"
"I didn't."
"I'm only here because you're thinking of me again," he murmured. "Like every other night."
His hand reached for me, fingers brushing my cheek. They felt too warm, too real.
His thumb moved to my bottom lip, pressing it.
"Leah," He said, my name in that soft, brok
