I was falling.
Weightless and free.
Not even the dull thud of my body meeting the concrete floor jarred me from the dark abyss pulling at my consciousness.
"Oh, shit," a masculine voice hissed. Attempting to look up was an exercise in futility, the neurons in my brain misfiring. A strange salinity coated my tongue, but I couldn't swallow past the bitterness.
"Help me get her onto the couch."
"How much did you give her?" asked another man. His baritone was familiar, but my mind struggled to place it.
"The same as always. Erica, can you hear me? Wake up. I need you to wake up."
I opened my eyes, but it was like looking through frosted glass. Shadowed forms crept in and out of view before disappearing again. A giggle bubbled up my throat as my eyes drooped shut.
Wrapped in a sweet cocoon of darkness, I didn't have to worry about exercise and inches dropped, each pound of flesh I lost the price paid for my sanity. Every so often muffled voices rattled around in my head, but nothing permeated the blissful fog.
Was I dreaming? I tried to open my eyes, but I couldn't. I tried to scream, but the sound came out a muted squeak. Fear coiled tight in my chest as I considered the possibility that I was in some sick nightmare from which I would never wake.
"Dante," I moaned, invoking the name of the only man I'd ever loved. My mind conjured his form to life, a wispy apparition. Instead of the professional athlete who decimated his opponents on the football field, the nineteen-year-old boy I'd met all those years ago smiled at me from the doorway to my parents' library.
The pungent aroma of oak and leather-bound books permeated my senses. With the exception of a massive brick fireplace and a wall of windows, the room was filled with bookshelves. Rolling ladders ornamented several of the taller ones, while comfortable chairs and a leather couch were centered in the middle of the expansive room.
This room was my sole sanctuary in my parents' Vermont mansion. Not even my bedroom was free from my mother's meddling. Snow coated the immaculate grounds, but it was warm inside, the cozy glow of the fire warding off any chill.
Dante walked in further, my heart ricocheting with each of his steps. Tall and lean with muscles wrapped taut in brown skin the color of Viennese nougat, Dante was masculine perfection. He sauntered closer, his pitch-black eyes piercing me in place as his sensual lips lifted into a broad smile.
Until that moment, I'd never had the desire to kiss a boy.
Or a man.
And Dante was all man.
Even with his military-short haircut, the kink of his curls was evident. I knew the texture of those curls because I'd gripped them when he'd brought me to orgasm in that frat house bathroom.
"Wow, this is incredible," Dante murmured, bringing me back to my current dream.
My mouth went dry when his broad shoulder brushed mine. "It's my favorite room in the house," I said.
"I can see why." He moved to the first bookshelf and ran his long fingers along the spines of several books. "What do you like to read?" he asked.
"A lot of different things," I said.
"What are you reading right now?"
"The Children of Húrin." Which was a total lie, but this was my dream sequence and I could remember our first meeting however I wanted. In this pseudo-reality, I was a sophisticated, well-read adolescent and Dante was a suave older guy.
"Interesting. Most people only know Tolkien because of the movies. Which is a shame," he said, prowling the room like a caged panther. "Fantasy your genre of choice?"
"Yes." I shifted from side to side, my plaid, schoolgirl skirt swishing at my knees. "What do you like to read?"
"I like fantasy. But mystery and science fiction are my favorites. Although lately, I haven't had much time to read for pure pleasure." The purr of his last word vibrated through me.
"Erica, Erica... Come on. I need you to take some deep breaths."
"Shit. What is wrong with her? What did you do to her?"
"Shut up. Erica, listen to me. Open your eyes. Show me those big, beautiful eyes."
Dante pulled out a book and settled onto the couch, flipping through the pages. "Why are you all the way over there? Come sit by me."
I froze in place, before forcing my feet to pad across the smooth floors. I sat on the opposite end of the couch, but soon Dante's relaxed smile and inviting posture had me inching closer. The hemline of my skirt hiked higher and I caught Dante staring at the pale skin of my upper thighs. He blinked several times before looking back up into my eyes. I could have stared into the cavernous depths of his for hours.
I gestured to the book in his lap. "You a Harry Potter fan?"
"Who isn't?"
"They were okay."
"Be careful not to say that in mixed company. You might get stoned to death," he said with a chuckle.
The soft sound of my giggle floated up into the rafters. His hand landed on my bare knee. Unable to reconcile his innocent look with the molten heat emanating from my leg, I glanced down.
"She's having trouble breathing. We have to call 911."
"No way. She'll be okay. We just need to give it some more time."
"We can't let her die."
Sadness overcame me. I didn't want to die. I wanted to stay locked in the library with Dante forever, discussing books and exploring the desires of my body. "What's wrong, Erica?" Dante asked, brow furrowed with concern.
I spoke, but no words came out. Ice gripped my heart and I reached for Dante, hoping to seize his vibrant warmth, but he disappeared, like smoke up the chimney. I needed to tell him that I loved him. Instead, I fell further into a stupor, my declaration locked in the fairytale of my mind.