iamthefirechild replied to your post:
It’s his voice. Summer held on to it like a lifeline, dragging herself up out of the clutches of the dream — nightmare, really. “I’m dead,” she gasped, groping for something to hold on to.
“You’re not dead, you’re just fine,” he replied quietly, cupping her face with one hand. “It was a dream. You’re okay.” As if in demonstration, he patted his other hand against the mattress. “See? Still in bed.”
She turned her face into his hand, still caught in the edges of sleep. She felt damp and dizzy and her eyes wouldn’t work right. “I died. Oh, god.” Her voice went rough, and then she was shaking, adrenaline-driven terror gripping her guts and shortening her breath. It felt as if something heavy was sitting on her chest, as if all the oxygen was removed from the air she gasped at.
Summer curled into a ball, trying to still the tremors racking her muscles, but that just made it worse. Now there was nothing at her back, and irrationally she felt sure someone was behind her, waiting to stab.