LOUIS
Something wakes me up. I open my eyes and look at my clock. It’s 2:13 in the morning, and I want to go back to sleep.

He wiped one eye and stepped closer to me. “Do you think this could be a

I sit up and feel the sheets between my legs. ‘Was that really a dream?’ I ask, because it feels more like a memory than a dream. It felt too real for it to be a dream, but Aaron’s face begins getting fuzzy until I can’t picture it at all. Two minutes after waking up, I can’t remember, for the fucking life of me, what he was trying to tell me.

All I can remember is that it was a good dream.

I lean back. Something in my head is keeping me up, but I don’t know what it is.

You know that feeling where you try to fall asleep, and you have nothing on your mind, but you just can’t fall asleep?

That’s me. Right now.

I close my eyes and I try to remind myself about what made that dream so damn good. And I can’t, for the fucking life of me, remember.