Chapter 3 - Polly

My dreams are restless. They always are when they feature my dad. But this time, something stops the car before it hits me and my bicycle. There's some invisible force that makes it screech to a halt and I'm not left on the ground watching my dad walk away into a better life with a better family. The dream shifts faster than I can comprehend, and I'm in a feather bed - a feather bed so fully stuffed that each time I move the feathers puff out and start floating up into the air. Except the feathers are black, not white like they usually are. I kind of like that. And I like this feather bed. I feel safe here. I'm alone, of course, but that's ok. That's the safest.

" Female! "

Someone far off is calling me, but I turn and nestle into my black feather bed. Screw them, I'm comfy.

"Female!… Fuck !…" distantly, I hear some grunting, clanging and… beeping? "Please wake up! Please tell me you're still alive!"

This dream is taking a weird turn.

I can feel my brow scrunch up as I moan sleepily and loll my head to one side. Is it time to wake up? My alarm hasn't gone off. Is that what that beeping is? No. My alarm is set to turn the radio on. What the fuck is that beeping?

And the banging?

God, my head feels like it's full of cotton. Painful cotton. Did I drink last night?

I lift my hand and hold my head, even more confused when my palm feels wet. "What the?"

"Thank the Goddesses! Female. Female! "

"Stop calling me that!" I grind out, groggily as I blink and open my eyes. I'm surrounded by an eerie blue light, but there is darkness beyond.

The person - the man - I had been talking to lets out a short, breathless chuckle. "And what should I be calling you?"

I try to look around. Am I stuck inside something? I must still be dreaming right now. "My name. Polly ," I say absently, trying to stop the panic from rising. This dream is starting to take a dark turn. I do not like being stuck in this weird, glass coffin thing - especially since I'm also soaking wet and up to my boobs in water.

Ok, I'd like to wake up now , I think to myself, wondering if I should start roughly pinching at my own skin.

Suddenly, on the other side of the glass, a man appears out of the darkness. Not just any man - the most beautiful man I've ever seen! Yep - definitely still dreaming. He has piercing purple eyes that are so artfully obscured by a few stray strands of his dark hair, it's hard not to believe he's a model who's just been sat in the hair-and-make-up chair to achieve that kind of look. He also has… sparkling freckles across the bridge of his nose.

Is he wearing glitter?

I start to slowly reach for my arm with fingers poised ready to pinch myself - hard . That man out there is covered in blood and dirt and somehow makes it look sexy as hell and I really need to wake up because nothing about this is making any sense. But I stop - pausing mid-motion when he smiles.

Oh my God, that smile .

" Poll-lee ," he says huskily, like just the mere sound of my name caused that Earth-shattering smile of his.

And dream-me is utterly stunned. Being stuck in a box might be the stuff of nightmares, but that smile? Christ, women would claw each other's eyes out just to feel its warmth. I don't know what part of the brain is in charge of the content of my dreams, but it sure is doing a wonderful (and terrifying) job right now.

Really, bravo .

But, as quickly as that smile had stunned me, it slides off his handsome face just as fast. "Polly," he says in a serious tone, but my mind doesn't catch on to that, it hones in on trying to figure out what that sexy accent is? I've always loved accents, but I'm struggling to place this one which is… weird that my brain conjured it up, to be honest. "The mimic will be back soon," he says, glancing over his shoulder. "I did not want to wake you from your slumber but it was angered when I would not help it break into your pod."

What, in the name of Beyoncé , is he talking about? "The mimic?" I ask, shaking my head at this gorgeous, but apparently insane dream-man.

" Mimic-ah ," he over-pronounces, and God damn , I hope I can remember his accent when I wake up. "They are very dangerous creatures and this one is intent on getting at you. You are safe in the pod for now but I do not know how to get you out, I merely pressed some of the lights to appease the beast and stop him from smashing the face of it with rocks. That is when your waters had started to drain. I was worried I'd done something wrong." With that, his arm reaches up above me and starts trying to shift or press something - I don't know. All I'm currently concerned about is the way his bicep is bicep-ing just absolutely beautifully. Honestly, that thing looks like it's carved from sparkly marble. I'm talking 10/10, would bite. "I've got to get you out of here," he grunts, still apparently trying to rescue me.

Uh-oh. Am I conjuring up a whole damsel in distress dream scenario? I start feeling a bit giddy and light-headed - dream-drunk - as I grin back at my hero and giggle. Why is this all so fucking funny? Me? A princess to be saved by a handsome knight from a terrible and dangerous monster? That's normally reserved for the pretty and dainty character.

The man's eyes drop to my mouth and his lips part as he stares.

And stares.

And stares.

His arm is still raised. His bicep still looking bite-able.

Those little sparkles start glittering at his temples - and that seems to make me giggle more. Why am I dreaming of glittery men? Why am I still in this weird, glass coffin?

He blinks at me and his tongue rolls out to wet his full lips - lips that I only just now realize are bloodied and cut up like he's been in a particularly nasty bar fight. What a weird detail for my brain to conjure up. Am I about to have a sex dream? Because even the split lip is kind of hot to me right now and the chemistry this dream-man is throwing my way has me giddy.

My dream-man drops his arm and presses his palm to the glass - and that thing is huge. Honestly, I think he could hold a giant watermelon one-handed. Blindly, I reach up to press my hand - tiny by comparison - to the glass too. It's then that I see it. A tattoo on my arm that I don't remember getting. There's numbers and writing. I furrow my brow and try to focus on the ugly ink. At first I can't read it, but it kind of morphs right in front of my eyes.

Purchased by Mama Z'rykby… Catalogue Item… Translator Installed… Payment Completed… Order Fulfilled…

What the?

"You are…" my gaze rips away from the weird tattoo to see my dream-man's purple eyes bounce around my face as he takes me in, "the most beauti-"

" Sweeeee-t… meeeeea-t. "