Page 24 of Dream Girl

Perfect, even.

She’s in my arms, and I’m awake; my nightmares can’t use me to hurt the one that I love. It can’t control my body, and I have a full grasp of my body unlike the times that I can only helplessly watch as if someone had hijacked my body to cause harm in my dreams, and sometimes in real life too.

Amelia is my anchor, holding and stabilizing me from being dragged into the tides of a never-ending swirl of regret and guilt.

Chapter Seven

Amelia

“They are nothing but lights.”

I roll my eyes, hands squeezing around thick fingers as we walk through the streets of downtown. There are couples everywhere; huddling for warmth, sharing a cup of hot drink, and generally being affectionate towards one another.

“They are the hopes of thousands.”

Milo scoffs. “I fail to see the significance of this.”

“That’s because you don’t have the holiday spirit.”

He doesn’t comment back, opting to look up to the streetlights that have lights wrapped around the poles, the trees are decorated with colorful lights, and the gentle fall of snow creates an atmosphere of tranquility and gleeful excitement.

We had a year where Christmas didn’t come with snow, and it was the most devastating thing that had happened that year. Nothing else mattered when there wasn’t snow because snow is a signature look for the holiday.

Milo had been fine with it because there was no need for shoveling, and he just had to point out that I was being dramatic over snow. He doesn’t understand my love for Christmas, and I swear that man wouldn’t even notice that it was Christmas unless I told him.

“Look, look!” I point at the café nearby, a big sign showing that they have hot chocolate with one giant marshmallow on top that’s toasted to a perfect golden brown.

“We have to get it!”

Dully, Milo counters back with a more stern grip on my hands to stop me from lunging myself at the shop.

“We don’t have to.”

I gasp, another offensive thing comes out of his life. This is more than the usual amount that he would spill; he’s good with putting nonsense to a stop, but he is on a roll today.

“It is a tradition to be in a warm place with a cup of hot chocolate—and they have a giant marshmallow! That café is the best place for that!”

“Our home can accomplish the same thing.”

I narrow my eyes at him, grumpily pouting at him while silently hoping I could change his mind by looking intimidating. That’s not a good idea. My eyebrows are cramping up, and it’s hurting my eyes, so I just give up, rubbing my forehead.

“This is a date.”

He response, unmoved. “Every day is a date.”

This smooth man.

I gasp, blushing from the cold and his words. I want to say something, but my mind is hovering between jumping on him and cooling my face by plopping down on the pile of snow.

This is the same as the saying when every day is Valentine’s day. I wonder if Milo had gotten inspiration from that social spectacle that tends to come out during Valentine’s day. I highly doubt it. This man has no interest in anything on the internet, and he’s an old man deep in his heart.

“Come on,” he says, tugging on my hand to make me follow him.

I blink in confusion, watching the jacket stretching across his wide shoulders to the store in front of us. I squeal giddily as the picture of the shop’s main attraction comes closer.

I can already taste the marshmallow on my tongue as he pushes open the door. The instant sweetness fills my nose as Milo growls under his breath; the scent must be overwhelming to his plain taste buds.

It’s a long line, but I will wait until the end of the world if I have to. I will not pass up this opportunity to indulge myself in a marshmallow practically as big as the opening of the mug.

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