10

I SHOOT UP IN bed. I wasn't ready to be cast from the dream. I wanted to tell Dream Ophelia how sorry I was.

I rub my eyes and go to stand, but that's when I stop. Surrounding my bed on the floor are dead butterflies, dark blue and black. I nearly scream at the sight, but instead I clutch my hand to my heart. I don't want to draw Carter's attention from down the hall.

I also don't want to answer any questions. All I know is I have to clean this up. I have to go see Ophelia. These butterflies prove that it was real.

That she was real.

I feel terrible trying to sweep up the butterflies. They feel sacred. But I gather them in the dustpan and empty them into my trash can, saving only one. It feels delicate in my hands. I set it on my desk while I slip into the bathroom to clean up before I get dressed.

I don't have work today, a rarity. So I should have time to go back to the bookstore, to find Ophelia. I know she's there, and if she's not I'll wait. I have to speak to her and show her the butterfly. I may have missed her on my last visit, but I know she's still there, somewhere.

And when Ophelia left the bookstore, I know I saw her looking around, as if that invisible tether tying us together still existed.

As if she might have sensed that I was there, in her space.

I carefully wrap the butterfly in a tissue and put it in my backpack.

Carter is sitting in the living room, dressed for work. He has a bowl of cereal in hand as he watches TV. He looks up at me as I frantically slip on my shoes and my coat.

"Where's the fire?" he says.

I only glance at him for a second, unsure of what to say. I can't tell my roommate that a mysterious man visited my dreams, haunting my nightmares. And I certainly can't tell him I saw my ex-best friend in a dream, except we were real and I woke up with dead butterflies all over my room.

When I don't give an answer, he says, "You're off today. Usually you're still sleeping."

"I have to make a day trip back to my mom's house." The lie slips easily off my tongue. "I forgot something. But I'll be back this evening."

"Okay. Text if you end up staying the night. That way I'll know if I have the apartment to myself."

"I will."

I rush out to my truck, careful to place my backpack gently in the passenger seat.

Ophelia isn't going to want to see me, let alone talk to me. I know she will be furious that I'm even looking for her. But those butterflies in my room have to mean something.

The drive is quiet. I don't listen to music or a podcast. I don't make any stops along the way, like I usually do. Driving home isn't something I try to do in a quick trip. Even though it's a three-hour drive, I always drag it out, not really wanting to go home.

This time is different. And my heart beats faster and faster the closer I get.I decide to try Ophelia's house first. I don't know if she's at the bookstore yet, and it's still a bit early in the day.

I turn down her street, knowing the way her house by heart. There's one car in the driveway. Hers. My heart races with nerves; my stomach is in knots.

I rush to the door, ringing the doorbell. When there's no answer, I knock a few times.

The bookstore is within walking distance of her neighborhood, so my only other hope is that Ophelia walks to work sometimes. I'll try there, hoping that maybe Priya will have answers.

When I arrive at the bookstore, it's open. I park and make my way inside.

This time, it's not Priya behind the counter. It's Ophelia, helping a customer. When the customer walks away, I make my way closer.

"Ophelia?"

She turns to look at me, her face changing from an easy smile to a look of shock. I see the moment she closes herself off, the moment all emotion drains from her face.

There is no "happy to see me" after all these years. I knew that coming here would only bring her pain. But I didn't know that my heart would begin to rip from my chest from the way she looks at me now.

She tenses up, her hands gripping the counter. Her eyes, usually so full of hope and light, lose their luster as they settle on mine.

"Atlas…" she says, her voice choked. "What are you doing here?"

"I… came because I need to speak with you. It's important." My pulse pounds in my ears, blocking out all the sound around me. Music plays from the speakers, but I barely hear it. Books surround me, but all I see in front of me is Ophelia.

Like the dream. Except she's in normal attire, not the stunning purple ball gown she wore in the forest.

"I'm working right now. I don't think…" There's hesitation in her eyes. Despite every rotten emotion I know she feels about me, she's still Ophelia. She would not prevent me from telling her whatever it is I need to tell her.

"No." I step up to the counter. "Please. It's important."

"Can I help with something, Atlas?" Priya emerges from the back room. Her arms are crossed, but her eyes are sympathetic. She knows my past mistakes. And she's going to protect Ophelia at all costs. I don't expect anything less. But this is important to me and it's important to Ophelia, even if she doesn't know it yet.

"I need to speak to Ophelia privately. It's really important."

Priya studies my face for a moment, then looks to Ophelia. "You don't have to, but if you want to, I can watch the counter for a bit."

Ophelia bites her lip, looking at me with a mix of uncertainty and some other unidentifiable emotion.

She motions towards the back room. I look at Priya, who nods her permission. I step behind the counter and follow her to the small door in the back. Ophelia opens it, stepping inside and holding it for me. Ibrush past her, and a wave of regret hits me.

It didn't used to be like this. Accidental bumps. Arms intertwined as we took adventures through town. Never has it felt so cold to be this close.

The door falls shut and Ophelia stands at a distance. Her arms are crossed, her eyes studying the floor.

"I know you hate me," I begin. "And if this is all nothing, I'll leave you alone. But last night, I had this dream."

Ophelia looks up at me, her eyes searching mine. "You drove all the way here because of a dream?"

I nod slowly. "You were in it. We were in a dark forest and there were butterflies, dark as night, flying around."

Her eyes light up with recognition, but then she guards herself again. She forgets how easily I can still read her, after all these years. Her lips are downturned and her fingers tap on the table as if this is a waste of her time. I continue.

"I know this sounds crazy, but it was real. We both were sharing a dream. You can't lie to me and I can't lie to you."

"Atlas…"

"I know you were not some figment of my subconscious. We were sharing a dream. I have proof."

"Atlas, this all sounds a little insane. I get that obviously this dream really bothered you. But I don't know why you felt like I'm the person to talk to about it. People don't share dreams. Especially not when they haven't spoken to each other in years."

I flinch at that last part.

"I know I broke our friendship, Ophelia. I know I broke you, and I can never make it up to you. But please, give me the chance to prove to you that this happened."

I unzip the front pocket of my backpack and pull out the sacred cloth. I hold it out to her, needing her to take that first step. "Open it."

She looks hesitantly at the tissue in my hand, but slowly takes a step towards me, coming close enough to reach, but still so far away. Her fingertips brush my palm and another rush of guilt crashes into me.

She takes the tissue and holds it delicately in her palm. With her free hand, she opens it cautiously.

The black butterfly is still dead, but Ophelia's eyes are wide. Her face blanches.

"W-what are you doing with this?"

"When I woke up, a bunch of them were scattered around my bed. Feel the wings. It's real."

Tears glisten in her eyes. Maybe from the stress or from the impossibility of all of this. No matter what has happened, there is something connecting us. Her hands shake as she carefully wraps the tissue back up. I want to reach out to steady her, but I don't think the gesture would be welcome.

"So how… how is this possible?" Her voice shakes with the question.

"I don't know. But I do know something else. The other night, I had this nightmare. I was… I was drowning."

Despite the anger and the hate she has for me, I see her face soften. My hatred of being in the water is well known by those who have ever been close to me.

But Ophelia knows the truth about why I hate it.

"I was in some sort of ocean," I continue. "And I couldn't break the surface. Then a hand pulled me out, just far enough that I could see a man with dark eyes and a face shrouded in shadow. He told me my pain was delicious and that he'd be back."

Ophelia shivers, rubbing her arm. "So what do you think this means?"

"I'm going to sound insane."

"Butterflies from our dream—our shared dream—coming to life in the real world is insane, and yet it happened. You really think anything else is going to be more unbelievable than that?"

"Fair point. I think there's someone messing with people's dreams and nightmares. And I guess he's landed on me. And maybe even you."

She shakes her head. "The only person in my dreams has been you. I didn't realize it was really you."

"You still would've walked away," I say softly. "I deserve all the hate you have for me. Really, I do. I don't think I can ever forgive myself for abandoning you when you needed me most."

Ophelia quickly crosses her arms. Her eyes are glassy with tears she won't cry in front of me. Her lips are pressed tightly together, and I see this for what it is. Anger. "I don't want to have this talk right now. It's four years late."

My heart clenches. She's absolutely right.

She hesitates, searching my eyes for something. I don't know if she finds it. "I don't know what to say about all of this. I don't know where to even begin."

She wraps her arms more tightly around herself; I can almost feel the anxiety seeping off her. I long to hold her in a hug and reassure her.

I almost do. But I stop my hand midway across the space between us.

"For now," I say softly, "I think we should document our dreams. You should keep an eye out for a mysterious figure."

She nods slowly. "If I see a strange man, I can tell you. In a text. Is your number still the same?"

"Yeah." I don't know if I should be surprised she's kept my number in her phone all this time, or relieved.

"If I see anything, I'll text you." There's an edge to her voice, the pain of this choice burning through both of us. "But for now, I have to get back to work. You should go home."

She hands me back the butterfly in its tissue cocoon, but I take Ophelia's hand and return the tissue and its precious cargo to her. "Keep this. I think it belongs to you."

Hope builds in my chest. Maybe this doesn't have to be so complicated anymore. Maybe there's forgiveness between us with this shared experience.

Our hands linger as my eyes search hers for any sign that we can be friends. But all I see are the walls built around her. Walls that I caused.

Without another word, I leave, my heart breaking all over again.