He gently kneels down and shakes her arm. “Summer? You’re gonna get cold out here.” He speaks softly.
His hands. His hands were on her. She struggled, trying to wrench her arms away. “No, no, you mustn’t — don’t — !” The words tangled in her mouth, still partly caught up in the dream, in the horror of it.And then it all came together in a flash.
Wide-eyed, she locked her gaze on Arthur, falling still. “I’m not supposed to be here.”
“Summer, please, it’s me, it’s Arthur.” He spoke quickly as he let go of her arms, worried about her flailing around. He hoped that she wouldn’t end up hurting herself.
His eyes were wide as he looked at Summer. “What do you mean, not supposed to be here?”
Summer forced herself to say it, no matter how the words caught in her throat. “I’m in love with you. Arthur. But it’s not supposed to be me. If I’m here, because of me — there was a spell, but it couldn’t take, because I’m already in love with you. Trying to make sure you aren’t with the person you’re destined to be with.”
It didn’t come out clearly; she didn’t know how to explain it. Just that she needed to leave. Now.
She scrambled out of the bed, heedless of her state of dress, and started flinging her meager possessions onto the covers. “I have to go.”