“I loved coming here.” My mother’s voice is calm and sober, which is at odds with the noise of the bottles clinking and everyone talking in the bar. It sounds like everyone’s talking at once and over each other. The billiard balls collide on the break and the sound of a new game starting draws my attention briefly. The television’s on with a football game and some of the guys cheer a player on, but he the whole bar voices its dismay as he’s quickly tackled.

I recognize a few faces, one of them Carter’s dad as he orders a drink.

“That man’s going soon.” My mother’s voice catches my attention. Goosebumps flow over my skin; she’s so close to me. A thin, sickly smile is on her lips. She nods, not taking her gaze away from the far end of the bar as we sit on two stools next to each other.

I look back to the man I recognize and ask, “Mr. Cross?”

“No, no, baby girl,” my mother tsks me, “the bartender.”

Dave.

Ice flows over my skin as my mom laughs at my reaction. Fifth on the list.

The billiard balls clack noisily, and the bar carries on like nothing’s happening. Like they can’t even see us.

Sharp nails dig into my shoulder as my mom comes closer to me, whispering in my ear and making my body stiffen.

“I used to fuck him at the end of the night,” she tells me with her smile growing. “He’d clear my tab in return, although sometimes he just wanted me to suck him off like a whore.”

My words fail me and I struggle to breathe or to know what to say. It’s only a dream.

“Yeah, yeah, baby girl. But that doesn’t make it any less true,” my mom tells me before letting go and sitting upright in her seat.

I swallow the tight knot in my throat and peek up at her.

“Just because you’re dreaming doesn’t mean shit.” The smile fades and she stares at the bartender as he pours a glass of some clear liquor for Mr. Cross.

The music seems to die down, everything except my mother’s voice turning to white noise.

“At one point, I thought he loved me,” my mom tells me, staring down at the drink on the bar.

It takes me a moment to realize the smudge on the glass is blood. My gaze darts to her hand, to the broken nails and the bruises on her wrist.

My heart pounds, the anxiety and fear rising as her voice hardens and she picks up the drink. “Men don’t love, Chloe.” She sets the glass against her lips, but she doesn’t drink. Instead, she stares at the man behind the bar. She stares down the bartender who doesn’t see either of us. “Don’t you ever believe that shit.”

I grip the barstool tighter, feeling the blood draining from me as she looks me in the eyes, her own pale and lifeless. “Don’t believe him, Chloe Rose.”

I wake up drenched in sweat and alone. Trembling, I can hear the faint sounds of someone outside. I can’t help getting out of bed, my heart still racing as I check to see who it is.

Peeking through the blinds, it’s just two guys walking down the street. Guys I’ve seen before on the porch of a house down the street. They look like they’re on their way back from the liquor store, carrying bags full of large glass bottles. That would explain the noises I heard in my sleep.

I’m still shaking as I turn from the window and slowly walk back to the bed, my mind racing with the memory of the dream. Of the bar. Of Dave.

I reach out to Bastian’s side of the bed, but the sheets are cold.

Blinking the sleep from my eyes, I walk to the bathroom, my bare feet padding against the cold floor. The door’s partially open and it’s dark inside, but still, I push it open wide and flick on the light.

The brightness makes me wince, and I find it empty.

“Bastian?” I call out for him even though I know he’s not here. His place is empty.

Where the hell is he? The clock on the stove reads 3:46. “Where the fuck is he?” I mutter, still breathless from the fear that woke me. I’d rather focus on Bastian than on the night terror, but when I get to my phone that I’d left on the coffee table, my blood runs cold.

Dave now too. They’re going one by one.

I stare at the text message, reading it over and over.

Dave is dead.

I dreamed of it. And he’s dead. I’m so cold. I can’t feel anything but the horror I felt from the nightmare.

I don’t know how I’m still standing. The scream of fear is silent in my throat, but it’s there.

Tears prick my eyes and I can’t control the shaking. Adrenaline and the need to run kick in before I can do anything. It all happens so slowly, each level of despair falling on its own. Like dominoes. And between each blow, I reread the text.

Dave now too. They’re going one by one.

My knees collapse, and I drop the phone, pressing my hands together and begging them to stop shaking.

It was a dream. She’s not real.

It’s not real. Tell me the text isn’t real. It’s not true.

It’s just some asshole fucking with me. There’s no truth to it.

I swallow each of the thoughts, pushing my head into the carpet and trying to steady my head from spinning with the fear racing through me.

But how can it be a coincidence? It can’t. It can’t be.

It’s not real.

“Bastian,” I cry out for him like the crutch he is. The panic is slow to set in.

I know he’ll make it better. He’s a balm each and every time. He can make it go away.

But he can’t explain this. Nothing can explain this.

I reach for my phone and miss it, but then I grab it again, my nails digging into the carpet as I drag it closer to me. “Pull your shit together,” I mutter under my breath. I lift my gaze to the front door as I scroll for Sebastian’s number.

My body is hot, and tense and the fear threatens to consume me.

It’s locked. The door is locked.

Ring, ring, ring.

No answer.

I stare at the screen as if it’s lying to me. I don’t know how long I sit there on my knees, my ass on my heels as I stare at the fucking phone, hating it and hating this place and freezing. I’m so cold. I’m so fucking cold.

It was a nightmare, it’s not real.

I try again and get the same result, voicemail.

Swallowing thickly, I brave looking at the text message again.

I could ask who it is, but they won’t tell me.

I could ask for proof, but I don’t want to see.

Instead, I try Sebastian again because he’s all I have. And still, I get nothing. My heart races and the anxiety grows inside me, burning me from the inside out and nearly shoving me over the brink of insanity.

It’s okay, I tell myself as I rock on the floor. It’s okay.

It’s just a nightmare. Just a text.

Just another coincidence.

“Bastian,” I cry out for him and feel so unworthy. So unhinged.

Where is he?

He has to be with Carter, out on the edge of the city where there’s no reception. It’s my fault. I told him to go there. It’s my fault, I repeat to myself.

Finally, my body moves. I need to get dressed and go to him. I can’t stay here. I won’t do it. I need to tell him; I need to tell someone. I’m breaking down and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what’s real.

I’m not crazy.

A scream tears through me as the phone rings in my hand. I drop it, the vibrations feeling like fire against my skin.

It rings again, and I see it’s Sebastian.

My fingers shake as I answer it and wait for his voice.

“Chlo?” he asks, and I struggle to put what’s going on into words.

“I need you,” is all I manage. I can barely breathe.

“Chloe, it’s okay.” I hear the tone of his voice morph from curious to concerned. “What’s wrong?” he asks me.

“I had a nightmare,” I cover my mouth with my wrist, remembering my mom and her words.

“Chlo, it’s just a dream,” he tells me as tears prick my eyes.

“I dreamed about Dave and then I got a text,” I push the words out and take in a deep breath. Shaking out my other hand, and staring straight ahead at the stark white wall, I wait for him to say something that makes sense, something that will make me feel better.

“I’ll be there soon,” he tells me, and I nod my head, my throat raw with emotion.

“I’m not okay,” I tell him in strangled words.

“It’ll be all right,” is his only answer before the line goes dead. But it’s not all right. It’s not going to be all right. I wanted them all to die for having done nothing while my mother cried out for help. I wanted them to feel the pain and regret that I felt every damn day for years when I cried myself to sleep. They felt nothing, and it wasn’t fair. That was years ago though and I don’t want this. I would never ask for this now.

I’m living in my own hell.