Page 10 of While You Sleep

My breath locked in my lungs, dread filling me. I’d been around an angry man, an abusive man, my whole life, and at his raised voice, his anger, my flight instincts kicked in and it was hard not to shrivel in on myself. “Don’t call me. Don’t text me. We’re done.”

“Don’t you fucking hang up on me!”

I quickly disconnected, confused, shaken. I thought he was a nice normal guy. I’d been so wrong.

I hadn’t heard from Dean all afternoon. He said he had a family thing, but right then I needed to talk to someone, and I don’t know why, but Dean made me feel safe. No, I’d never met him face-to-face, but something about him, the things he said, the way he said them, it was like he knew me. He wasn’t fake or pretended to be some good guy because he wanted something from me. And he didn’t judge me.

Maybe it was stupid, but I felt like Dean understood me more than anyone else in my life. I quickly typed out a message.

Me: Sorry, I know you’re busy, but Brian just called and completely lost it with me.

His reply was almost instant.

Dean: Don’t need to be sorry, Soph. Text any time, yeah. You okay?

Me: I guess. I just freaked out there for a minute.

Dean: Understandable. I’m driving, so can’t text for a bit. You’ll be okay till I get home?

Me: Yeah, thanks, Dean.

I instantly felt at ease. While I waited for him to get home, I changed into my pj’s and washed my face, then poured myself a glass of wine to steady my nerves. Curling up on the couch again, I found a romantic comedy, one that looked light and fun and put it on.

I was fifteen minutes into the movie when my phone dinged again.

Dean: Home. You doing okay?”

Warmth filled me instantly.

Me: I’m a lot better now that I’m talking to you. And the glass of wine’s helping as well.

Dean: You sure? If you’re really worried, I could come over.

I blinked down at the message. We’d never talked about meeting in person. I didn’t even know what he looked like. We’d grown so close, so fast, but neither one of us had suggested it. I felt safer just texting him, but inviting him over? I wasn’t so sure.

Me: What if you’re secretly some weirdo catfishing me?

I didn’t believe that, not really, but you couldn’t be too careful.

Dean: A catfish pretends he’s someone else, using pics of other people. I’ve never shown you a pic of me. What if you’ve been catfishing me?

I smirked.

Me: You saw my ID pic and one of my outfit the other night!

Dean: What if someone else picked up your wallet when I handed it in? That other photo could’ve been in there as well. You could be the old woman at the cafe.

I laughed.

Me: And she gave you her number instead?

Dean: Sure. Those catfishing types go to all kinds of lengths to fool their targets. Maybe you have Soph locked in a closet?

I snorted, then impulsively took a pic of myself. My hair was a little mussed, but in a kind of sexy way, and my eyes looked bright, and there was just the smallest peek of cleavage. Not that I was trying to be sexy. We were just friends. I mean, Dean could be some old dude for all I knew, but then he didn’t really sound old in his texts.

Gah! I was overthinking it. I hit send on the picture.

Me: See, not in a closet.

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