Page 48 of Falling Off Script

“Or,” she says, “you could explore what makes him stick.”

I narrow my eyes. “Are you on his payroll?”

She just smiles again.

I groan. “Fine. I’ll journal. But if I start sleep-texting him, it will be your sin, too.”

***

The first thing I become aware of is not the sun, or the time, or the desperate need for caffeine.

It’s the fact that I’m... smiling.

Like, post-kiss, post-climax, post-sin smiling.

My eyes snap open.

“No,” I croak to no one. “No, no, no. Not again.”

But it was. Again.

Adrian was there.

With his hands. And that voice. And that stupid, smug smile.

I groan and reach blindly for my phone, still half-asleep and 100% too horny for my own principles. I open the voice recorder app for dream journaling like Dr. Lisa suggested and hit record before I can overthink it.

Tuesday, 8:15am

“Okay. Dream log. He was there again.

Adrian. Just—there. No warning. No shirt. No shame.

He looked at me like he already knew what he was about to do to me.

And he did. God, he did.

I can’t even say half of it out loud.”

I blink. Still half-under covers. My body warm and wet in all the wrong places.

Shouldn’t I go into full detail? Get it out of my system?

Okay. Fine.

I’ll record the rest.

Just... for me.

I should delete this.

I won’t.

But I should.

22. Adrian

My mom and I have brunch every other Sunday. Just a ritual. Habit. Slightly weaponized guilt.

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