Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 84949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Manda hugs me, her expression giddy. "It was so romantic! Do you want to hear all the gory details?"
"Of course," I lie, keeping the smile on my face. I fight the urge to cry. One of the reasons I didn't mind the program was that it felt like we had a little family here in the fort—me and Rachel and Manda. I'm going to be left behind all over again. But it's not like I can ask Manda to stay. She loves Lucas. He loves her. I want her to be happy, I really do. It's selfish to want her to stay just for my sake. So I squeeze her hands and give her an excited look. "Tell me everything."
You're sad tonight. I can feel it.
The voice is in my dreams again. I don't even realize I'm asleep before I hear it, rich and vibrant, rolling through my head like a song. I open my eyes and look around my room. Everything's dark, but that's all right. I know exactly who it is.
"It's you." I can't stop the smile on my face. "You're back."
I am? Did I go somewhere?
"I just wasn't sure if I'd dream about you again. Dreams don't work like you want them to." I sit up in bed, excited. My room is full of shadows, but they're not frightening ones. It's like everything isn't clear in my dream except for me.
And him.
There are no bugs tonight. I don't have to see them to know that they're not here. It feels clean in my dream tonight. I don't feel like I'm breathing in garbage. "You're here to protect me, aren't you? I feel a little bad, because there's not much to protect me from."
Protect you? Of course I protect you. He sounds amused. Cocky. Why would I not? You belong to me.
I snort with amusement at that. "You think so? I'm pretty sure this program owns me. They might fight you over that sort of thing."
Program?
"Run by Lord Azar?"
Lord…Azar.
Almost as immediately as my friend arrived, he vanishes again. The friendly presence is gone, and I feel the loss of him so keenly that I want to cry. I wake up, staring at the bunk over me in the darkness, and my face is wet with tears anyhow.
I go through the next day in a haze. I'm not in a chatty mood, because I can't wait to go back to sleep to see if my friend returns. I don't know if he's a figment of my imagination, or if I've suddenly developed psychic powers of some kind, or if I'm being haunted by a ghost.
I don't care. All I know is that I crave talking to him again like I crave air.
No one's in a particularly good mood, it seems. Manda is quiet, on edge as she scans the guards looking for Daniels. She's probably anxious, waiting to hear back about her engagement and leaving the program. Dina and Nancy aren't talkative sorts by nature, and when I go out with Wallace later that day, I'm glad because he's a quiet, efficient sort. It lets me remain lost in my thoughts.
I speed through dinner and race back to my bunk, complaining of headaches. Most of the guards are pretty clueless about women, so we can blame a lot of stuff on “female problems.” I curl up in bed under the covers, my eyes tightly closed, and wait for sleep to take me.
This time, I feel his presence before he speaks.
"You're back," I say, even as I open my dream eyes. I'm in my room again, but in my dream, it's full of hazy golden sunlight and the warmth of a sunny afternoon.
I missed you.
The three simple words thrill me. "I missed you, too." I sit up, looking in the shadows for his face. "Where are you?"
I am here, in your mind.
Oh. That wasn't exactly what I was asking, but maybe my friend doesn't have a physical form. "Are you a ghost?"
I do not think so. I am real.
"I'm pretty sure a ghost would say that, too."
His laughter rumbles through my head, pleasant. It makes me ache with sweetness. I love his laughter. I want to hear more of it.
"What's your name?" I ask. "Can you tell me that?"
You are Jenny. I remember yours.
Hearing him say that is like a warm hug. "It's short for Jennifer, but that's too long to use on a daily basis. No one calls me that anyhow. My mother did, but she's gone. My dad always just called me Jenny." I think of my dad, of his tough, weather-beaten face and his salt-and-pepper beard. I miss him, but the ache hurts a little less with every day that passes. "But you can call me Jennifer if you want."
Jenny. There's a thoughtful pause. My name is shortened, too. I remember now. I only have part of it.