Page 26 of The Nightmare's Kiss

I clasp my hands in my lap and try to control my expression as my body goes hot with shame, then cold with fear. If it’s secrets the Nightmare is hungry for, I’vecreatedone by giving in to my nighttime fantasies. Not to start with the moral implications of me consorting with a lab subject. I never would’ve done what I did if I had the faintest inkling it wasreal. It makes me frustrated all over again that Wright and the others waited until now to tell me.

Then again, I guess they couldn’t have imagined that I’d decide to get down and dirty with a living nightmare. They’ve probably never encountered my particular brand of Fucked Up before.

I clear my throat and try to change the subject. “So how would you like me to proceed, given this new information?”

“We’re not making any changes to your instructions for the moment,” Ramsey says. “Continue as usual until you hear otherwise from us.”

I nod while thinking there is no chance in hell that’s happening.

I leave the room alone to head back to my lab for the remainder of the workday, eager to get some privacy so I can have a meltdown in peace. But I soon hear the click of heels following me. I glance over my shoulder at Dr. Wright and slow down so she can catch up. Her expression is mild and her steps unhurried, as if she doesn’t care whether she walks at my side. But once she’s there, she looks sideways at me, gives me a small smile, and says. “You’re doing well.”

The praise is almost more shocking than the information I learned in that room. I blink at her dumbly. She continues, “Director Ramsey would never admit as such, of course, but he’s pleased with how you’re performing. We all are.”

“How is that? I’ve just been following instructions.”

“So you have,” she says. “And that in itself is remarkable. Everyone else in your position has resigned within a couple weeks, complaining of recurring nightmares, sleep loss, and pervasive anxiety.”

I frown. Though my first couple of dreams about the Nightmare were unsettling, since then I wouldn’t describe them as particularly frightening. And I have been sleep deprived, but not any more anxious than normal. “Is it strange to admit I’m not scared of the subject?” I ask, lowering my voice and glancing around. Even though I doubt she could guess the full truth of how I’ve felt toward the Nightmare, it feels like a strange thing to say. Like something is wrong with me, some key component missing.Crazy, whispers a voice in the back of my mind that sounds uncomfortably like Ethan. “It feels like…like it’s not reallytryingto scare me either. I don’t know how to explain it.”

Dr. Wright gives me a long, searching look. Again, I have the uncomfortable feeling that she knows more than she lets on. But it must be my self-consciousness. How could she possibly know? “Well, whatever you’re doing, it’s working,” she says. “Keep it up. And my advice? Keep the details to yourself. Director Ramsey is impressed by your ‘fortitude.’” She says the word like she knows it’s not true. “Especially because of your…feminine proclivities.” She rolls her eyes, and I bite back a grin at the open contempt. “That can only work in your favor.”

I nod slowly, understanding what she’s telling me and grateful for the advice. She didn’t have to do this. And I feel like I understand her better now. Maybe she only seems cold because she has to, in this line of work. I can’t imagine what kind of bullshit she has to put up with working for a man like Ramsey only for him to start favoring Ethan over her, even though she’s undoubtedly been working here much longer. And during that conversation, I didn’t get the impression she had told Ramsey or anyone else about my visit to her house and that embarrassing chat we had, which I’m grateful for. “I appreciate it, Dr. Wright.”

She gives me another thin sliver of a smile. “Calliope is fine.”

I smile back. “All right. Thanks, Calliope.”

She continues on down the hallway with a swish of her skirt and the click of heels, leaving me feeling surprisingly comforted. At least I know I’m not entirely alone in this place.

17

Chapter Seventeen

That sort-of tribunal was so stressful that the rest of the day is a blur. My lunch gets pushed later, so I eat alone in an empty break room, taking mechanical bites of my sandwich. Still, even as I run through my instructions for the day and do my damnedest not to make eye contact with the Nightmare, I can’t fight the nagging feeling that I’m forgetting something.

While I’m lying in bed on my phone that night, it finally occurs to me. If the dreams have been real this whole time…then the Nightmarehascommunicated with me. It’s spoken to me. Demonstrated intelligence and sentience. We’ve had whole conversations. And much more than conversations.

Which means that Dr. Wright was fuckinglyingwhen she insisted the Nightmare wasn’t an intelligent being.

I let my phone drop to the bed and glare at the ceiling. All of the warm things I felt toward her after that meeting bleed away. The Nightmareismore intelligent than they originally let on. He has thoughts and feelings and a soul. No matter what else they say about him, or what he’s done, that much is true.

And I’ve been ignoring him in real life while fucking him in my dreams. Using him like athing.

I press my palms over my eyes, letting out a slow breath.

I feel stupid. So goddamn stupid. But after that humiliating experience with Dr. Wright, and the panel with the director and Ethan, I know better than to rush to confront anyone. Especially since revealing too much about my dreams with the Nightmare could lead to some…very uncomfortable conversations. My palms are sweating just thinking about it.

If I’m going to do this, I need to do this right. And that means, first, that I have to confront everything I’ve done wrong.

When I open my eyes again that night, in the dream version of my bedroom, I sit up slowly and clutch the sheets to my chest. Now that I know this is real, I wore a set of real pajamas to bed instead of my usual scanty clothing, but I still feel vulnerable.

Now that I’m properly paying attention, I’m not sure how I didn’t notice that my dreams have been different, more real, ever since the Nightmare entered them. Not only do I always dream of my own bedroom, but it’s far too accurate. In dreams, there are always little differences that make the environment strange, or break reality.

But here, everything is just like it is in real life.

Except for the Nightmare standing in one corner, watching me with those dark eyes. I slowly turn to look at him.

I canfeeltoo much for this to be a normal dream too. Like the slide of my silken sheets in my fingers, the thump of my heartbeat in my chest. The flare of hot shame as I think about what I did in that last dream before Dr. Wright and the others told me the truth.

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