Page 104 of Dead Set on You
Falling asleep next to Rafael Vela was the second-most reckless thing I did last night.
Falling for him was the first.
Waking up with this shocking and mildly terrifying secret makes me want to float out of his apartment and find a dark, quiet corner of the universe so I can examine its validity.
I fell for Rafael Vela.
Rafael. Vela.
Someone on whom I’ve bestowed several titles over the years—coworker, friend, public enemy number one—but about whom I’ve never, not in all this time, thoughtpotential soulmate.
Fall for the enemy.How’s that for a bucket list line item?
I want to bury my face in a pillow and scream into it until the world rights itself. I want to call Gemma and tell her that I think I’ve lost my mind (in addition to my body). But mostly, I want to run into his bedroom—to touch him, kiss him, lose myself in him—until I feel brave enough to tell him the truth.
The truth doesn’t scare me. His potential reaction to it does.
Because what if he doesn’t feel the same? Could I have misinterpreted his lingering gazes—the desire in them? Or the way he drank in my almost-naked body last night? Or touched my almost-flesh?
No, I don’t think I’m wrong to think he might return my feelings. IknowRafael (WWRDand all).
But I’ve also misjudged him and his actions in the past. I thought he was a backstabber. A cheater. A competitor with no qualms. I ignored any and all actions to the contrary. For years.
Which part of me do I trust now?
Which part of him?
Morning sunlight filters through the windows. It’s been several minutes of listening for movement, but I’ve heard nothing from his room. Nothing save for the sound of traffic along the street below. A police siren in the distance. And the incessantthump, thump, thumpin my head.
Will any of these feelings matter if I don’t figure out how to get back into my body? Even if I tell Rafael about my feelings doing a full 180, what happens then? I’m a ghost. A spirit. An apparition (depending on the Google search of choice).
To the world, I’m nothing more than a figment of Rafael’s imagination. A hallucination, as he referred to me that first morning.
But, if I really want to change—to get back to my life—I need to try harder. I need torefocus—on my mission, the checklist, the bucket list. I’ve allowed myself to get distracted by my feelings. And by Rafael and his stupid dimples and searing gazes and the way he’s giving this his all, like it’s the most important thing in the world.
And none of it will matter if I don’t get back into my body.
A sharp, shooting pain lances through my skull. Nausea follows. The room tilts.
It takes fifteen breaths for it to pass, and when it does, I know with certainty that something is very wrong. Dread settles in.
This doesn’t feel like healing or progress.
It feels like a countdown.
Like if I don’t find a way backsoon, there won’t be anything to come back to.
No checklist. No bucket list. No Rafael. No me.
Tentatively, I stand on weak legs. I need to find him. We need to find Lupe and Gemma. We need to figure this out. Soon.
I go to his room and stop at the open doors, nerves tangling with nausea. “Raf?”
No answer. No movement. I step into the room. He isn’t in his bed. Not in the living room or the kitchen. I end up in the dining room, searching the table for a sign of his wallet or his keys, but nothing. Except for my planner … and a note with his writing.
Ran to the hospital. Lupe says she found a real shaman. I don’t believe her, but I’m going to check it out. Don’t work yourself up about not coming. I can handle it.
Won’t be long. Feel free to snoop.
