Chapter 12
Lena's POV
The dream always started the same.
A room. Not this room-another one. One that felt like home, or the childhood memory of one, one that lived in your skin before you even registered it with your eyes. My uncle's sitting room. The brown carpet with a permanent cigarette stain ingrained, the crooked lampshade and the smell of his constant smoking.
My uncle's face.
He wasn't angry in the dream. That would have been easy. He was smiling-the smile that always presaged him getting something from me, warm and full and empty all at once. He was talking but I couldn't hear the words. Just the smile and his hands and the door behind him which I could never seem to reach.
The room then shifted.
Men. Heat. The stench of sweat and liquor and the feel of rope biting into my
