Page 3 of Catching My Dreams

When he started lifting her shirt, Ella focused on the body that was waiting for her in her bedroom in Virginia. But Brett grabbed her wrists as soon as she felt the tug of her spiritual body being pulled back to her physical one, his fingers digging into her skin hard enough that she whimpered.

His touch prevented her from fleeing. She’d known it was something he could do, but she had never realized how dangerous that made him until now—until it was too late.

“Shh, just relax. I know you want this as much as I do.”

One of his hands squeezed her breast while his hips jerked forward, pressing himself harder into her stomach. The satisfied groan that escaped him made Ella want to peel her own skin off. She’d seen this very thing happening to other women while she dreamwalked, but she’d never thought it would happen to her. She never thought she might have to call the police to report a crime she’d been subjected to rather than one she had witnessed.

When his other hand started working at his belt, Ella prayed. She didn’t pray for help. She didn’t pray for Brett to stop. She prayed for death. She prayed for it all to end because she knew that even if he stopped, she would never forget the way his hand touched her over her jeans or the way he moaned when he took himself out of his pants and pressed himself against her bare stomach.

She would never forget how violated she felt or that it was her friend who was doing this to her. So, Ella prayed for God to put her out of her misery like a vet puts a sick animal down so it doesn’t have to suffer anymore. But God didn’t answer.

Nobody was going to answer her prayers. Nobody was coming to help her. Ella was alone.

“I love you, Ella.” They were the words of a monster, and when he tried to kiss her again, she gave the monster what he deserved.

Her teeth dug into his bottom lip until she tasted blood. Brett screamed and covered his bleeding mouth with his hands, leaving both of Ella’s arms free.

With the sickening metallic taste in her mouth, Ella drew back her fisted hand and sent a punch to his face. It landed on his nose with enough force to leave her hand throbbing in pain. She shoved Brett off of her, the action made easier by the fact that he was more concerned over his bleeding lip and possibly broken nose.

Everything became a blur, and the next thing Ella knew, she was running through his bedroom door.

“Ella,” Brett screamed. “I’ll find you. You can’t—”

Whatever he said next was lost as Ella was pulled back to her bedroom. She returned to her body immediately but couldn’t be sure it had been fast enough.

Brett could find her in the spirit plane, and if he’d followed her there before she’d settled back into her physical body, she would have no way of knowing until he traveled into the physical plane.

She could no longer taste Brett’s blood. The shirt she wore on this plane wasn’t stretched, and her jeans hadn’t been unbuttoned, but she brushed her fingers over the very real bruises he’d left on her skin. It didn’t seem possible or logical, but he’d hurt her physical body, not just her spiritual one.

The realization was terrifying.

After opening her bedroom door with hands that shook so badly it took her multiple tries as sobs tore from her throat, Ella ran downstairs to the kitchen. She pulled the largest knife from the wooden knife block on the counter and positioned herself in front of the door leading out to the driveway. If Brett appeared in front of her, she was ready to fight.

But more importantly, she was ready to run. She knew that even with a knife, she didn’t stand much of a chance against someone who could disappear and reappear in the blink of an eye.

Ella stood in the kitchen with the large knife held out in front of her long enough for the summer sun to have set and for her cheeks to dry. Her joints and muscles ached after being still for so long. Only then did she lower the knife, confident that Brett hadn’t managed to follow her.

He knew she lived in Virginia, but Ella had never mentioned her last name or invited him to her house. He had no idea she was in Fort Hunt, and unlike her, he couldn’t pull himself toward a person if they weren’t on the same plane as him. She was safe.

Only it didn’t feel like it, especially when her parents were away again, their jobs as a pilot and a flight attendant keeping them in Europe for a month.

Still carrying the knife, Ella returned to her bedroom, turning lights on as she went and peering around corners before moving further.

She found her phone where she’d left it on her bedside table, but she knew calling the police would accomplish nothing. Brett was in LA. Neither of them had gotten on a plane. It was impossible for him to have attacked her less than two hours ago.

No amount of DNA evidence would convince the police or even her parents that she’d been in his house that evening. The bruises on her arms would mean nothing. His torn lip would mean nothing. Her word would mean nothing. Knowing that, Ella left her phone where it was and walked numbly to her bathroom.

She kept the knife within reach as she turned on the shower and stripped off her clothes, throwing them into the small trash can beside the toilet rather than the laundry basket.

She wanted to get rid of anything that reminded her of what Brett had tried to do—what he had done—but no matter how hard she scrubbed her skin, his touch didn’t wash away.

And neither did her memories of what he’d done.

1

“I love you, Ella. You’re mine.” Brett’s words and his warm breath brushed against her unwilling ear.

Ella screamed. And screamed. And screamed. But nobody came to help her as she struggled against the unrelenting press of his body against hers or his bruising grip on her wrists. Ella screamed, but nobody was there to save her.

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