I had moved to the comfort of my bed, white charcoal in hand, sketching on autopilot. The familiar figures from my dream appeared before me: the dead figure, smudged and blurred, just as it had been in the dream. My chest tightened at the memory. That overwhelming anguish, the sense that I should know this person... how could I?

I sighed, starting on the next drawing—the stranger. I remembered the strange flashes of colour: red, purple, and green. Odd. My dreams were always black and white, yet this one stood out. I’ll have to figure out what those colours mean later.

As I flipped to a new page, I began sketching the recurring eye. It always looked ancient, like a symbol from a forgotten time. The lashes long, curling both above and below, the iris shaped like an upside-down crescent moon cradling the pupil.

I glanced up at the picture on my wall—my favourite, a lotus flower sketched in purples with the word “Clarity” written underneath. The soft lavender of my room walls seemed to deepen in the evening light. My gaze wandered to the posters scattered haphazardly across the room. The chaotic display of Fuse, my favourite band, had remained untouched since high school. Though I was now in college, my room felt frozen in time, a teenage sanctuary I hadn’t yet outgrown. The polaroid pictures caught my eye next, pinned randomly around the posters and clustered near my desk. Mama had found her old camera buried in the garage when I was seventeen and handed it to Val, Iah and I to play with. We spent the summer capturing everything and nothing at all. I smiled softly, my gaze drifting to the bookshelf where the camera now sat, a reminder of those carefree days. I need to get the gang back together. Since college started, we’d drifted apart. Val was off somewhere in Italy with her modeling career, and Iah... she was up north, studying history at the University of Averon, the same place her father, Professor Aldea, taught. Meanwhile, I stayed here in Waterow, studying Business Administration at the City College of Averon, thanks to a scholarship I secured which helped my parents immensely. Life changed dramatically going from high school to college. My smile faded. We were always different, and deep down, I knew were headed down separate paths. My gaze settled on a certain polaroid in particular. It was of the three of us: Val, tall and slender, her blonde hair perfectly swept, posing like the supermodel she practically was. Then there was Iah, short and curvy, her wild curls bouncing as she crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue, making fun of Val’s pose. I chuckled to myself, remembering how furious Val had been when the photo developed. She gave Iah such a bollocking, but Iah just giggled and bounced around, completely unfazed.

And there I was in the middle, my bright red hair and freckles standing out against my slightly tanned skin, laughing so hard because I’d caught Iah’s expression just before Mama snapped the picture.

Shifting on the bed, I listened to the familiar creak of its wooden frame. All the furniture around me – the desk, bookshelf, dresser – had once been someone else’s cast-offs before Dad brought them back to life. He loved finding forgotten things, often dragging home pieces he thought had potential, restoring them in the garage until they were good as new. He’d always joke about finding hidden stories in the nicks and dents, imagining who might have used them before. For a moment, I wished I had that same knack for mending things.  

But I wasn’t like him. All I could do was capture broken things in sketches, the dead figure from my dreams haunting me with every stroke of charcoal. Sketching offered some relief, like a painkiller dulling the ache. Still, I could never tell my parents. How could they help when I wasn’t even sure what was wrong? They’d think I was losing my mind, and I wasn’t ready for that conversation. So, when the fatigue hit and my visions bled into reality, I would just say I’d pulled another all-nighter studying. I wasn’t sure how long I could keep up the act before they intervened.

 Closing my eyes, I saw the star again. I began sketching it next, letting the lines flow naturally onto the page. The soft glow of my lamp lit the drawings, making them feel even more haunting, as if they might move of their own accord. My thoughts drifted back to that day at the art store... to Carter.

I couldn’t help but smile. He was sweet, and I was an awkward mess. Typical.

The sharp trill of my phone jolted me from my thoughts. I glanced at the screen and grinned, answering with a playful, “Heeeeeyyy you!”

A warm, familiar voice replied, “Heeeeyyyy, it’s me.”

Carter.

I closed my sketchbook, running my fingers over the rough cover as I leaned back against the wall on my bed. “I was just thinking about you... about how far we’ve come since that day in the art store.”

There was a brief pause before he laughed softly. “You mean that day I almost let you walk away without asking you out? Definitely not my finest moment, but I’m forever grateful you said yes.”

I giggled and replied, “So am I!”

I remembered how he had sprinted out of the shop as I walked around the corner. When he reached me, I thought I’d left one of my items behind or, worse, that the payment hadn’t gone through.

“Oh no, did the payment not go through? Wait, let me check my bank,” I said, pulling out my phone to open the bank app in a panic.

He placed his hand over my phone and shook his head. “No, I, uh, just wanted to see if you’d like to get a coffee some time?”

Oh. OH! My face must have radiated disbelief, and he immediately looked dejected.

“No!” I hurriedly replied, waving my hands and shaking my head. Then I stupidly realised, “I mean, yes! That would be awesome.”

Girl, you act like you’ve never dated before. Well, sure, I’d been on dates and been with guys, but Carter was different. Most of the guys who had shown interest in me were either science nerds, super serious about their careers, or—let’s not forget—the guy who had a phobia of cheese. Don’t ask. None of them looked like they belonged on the football team and had a genuine appreciation for art.

He sighed in relief and flashed me a smile that sent a jolt of electricity straight to my core. Oh, deep, impure thoughts began to swirl in my head. I was jumping way too far ahead. All it would take is one date, and I might never see this guy again—let alone have him in my bed.

We exchanged numbers and made plans to meet. Afterward, Carter told me he’d gotten quite an earful from his manager when he walked back in, but he was just too excited to care.

“So, I happened to be driving by and wondered if I could pop up?” His voice pulled me from my memories, and I could almost picture the mischievous smile on his face. My core fluttered at the thought. Sure, I was fatigued from the dream, but I wasn’t dead. Actually, his timing was perfect. My dad was at his fantasy football group until late, and my mama was visiting my aunt, so she wouldn’t be back until morning. After the stress of my dreams, I could use some TLC—and Carter was just the person to deliver it.

I decided to play coy. “Oh…I don’t know. I was planning to finish this extremely exciting report for class. Honestly, I’m not sure I can pull myself away from it.” I rolled my eyes glancing over at the closed laptop on my desk.

I grinned, hearing his chuckle through the phone. “I think you’re working way too hard and need a relaxing break,” he replied, his voice dropping to that husky tone.

Cute was over. The moment he used that voice, I was done for. I matched his sultriness. “Well then, what are you waiting for?”

My breathing quickened, my heart racing with excitement. He had a habit of doing this to me—just by lowering his voice.

“Only for you to say the word.” His voice somehow got even lower. Damn.

“Word,” I said, smiling.

“See you soon.” His deep voice was full of promise.

I then heard the motor of his car pulling up to the house. Carter’s car was a black 1967 Chevrolet Camaro— you could hear that thing from a mile away. I cringed, thinking the neighbours definitely knew he was coming over. But the hornier version of me didn’t care. In fact, a wave of desire hit me at the sound of the engine’s roar.

Then reality kicked in. One, I was still holding my sketchbook. And two, I looked like a mess! My red hair was in a messy ponytail, and I was lounging in my green jumper and leggings—not exactly sexy.

I frantically shoved my sketchbook into the top drawer of my desk. Then, I tore the scrunchie out of my hair, pulled off my leggings and socks, and threw them into the hamper. I adjusted my cable-knit jumper so it barely covered my ass. Ok, I could work with this.

Sure, Carter had seen me in all kinds of states of dress, but I was still in that stage where I wanted to make his blood boil. I heard a knock at the door, and my heart skipped a beat.

Alright, keep calm, girl. You act like this, and it’ll be over in a flash. It always was. Our sessions were quick because we couldn’t keep our cool. For once, I would’ve liked it slow, but something about him always made me rush into it.

I hurried down the carpeted steps, careful not to trip, then paused at the door. I fluffed my hair, pulled my jumper down to reveal my freckled shoulders, and exhaled. When I opened the door, the early December air hit me, cold and sharp. There he was, standing effortlessly cool in a brown leather jacket over a grey button-down shirt and a black t-shirt that hugged his chest in all the right ways. His dark blue jeans did the same for his legs, and I caught myself sucking in my lower lip as I looked him up and down.

He was doing the same, his eyes hungry as they travelled over me. I saw him linger on my messy red hair brushing my bare freckled shoulders, then move down to my legs and exposed feet.

Oh yeah, we had a winner.     

“Hi,” I said, trying to mask my breathlessness.

“Hi,” he replied, all cool and collected.

We paused for a second, and then suddenly, I was in his arms, my legs wrapped around him as he kissed me like we hadn’t seen each other in weeks. Truth be told, we’d had lunch just a couple of days ago, but at this stage in the relationship, every second counted. His mouth on mine drove me wild as he walked forward and kicked the door shut without breaking the kiss. When his lips found my neck, I sighed and began to grind against him. He smiled against my skin and, still carrying me, started up the stairs. Damn football player, always showing off.

Once in my bedroom, he kicked the door shut again and set me down. I immediately started pulling off his brown jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, but I left the black t-shirt for him. I sat on the edge of the bed, watching as he kicked off his boots and pulled the shirt over his head in one smooth motion, revealing his bare chest. His muscular arms—strong enough to carry me effortlessly—made it clear how fit he was. That always left me in awe.

A guy like him, honestly, was into me.

A lot of the guys I had been with were skinny, semi-muscular, or even had a bit of curves, but don’t think of me as shallow. This was just the first time I’d been with someone built like him, and damned if I wasn’t going to enjoy it!

“Hey, don’t objectify me,” he joked, catching me staring. I giggled, stood up, and kissed him, my hands tangling in his messy blonde hair. His hands found the edges of my jumper and pulled it down, the fabric gently falling to the floor. He grabbed me and kissed me hard, and as I moved back, my legs hit the edge of the bed. I pulled him toward me, and in one swift motion, he was on top of me. Still kissing, of course; we’d mastered that by now. I can’t tell you how many times we’d had small accidents, like bonked foreheads, a poked eye once, or even our teeth clashing. We always laughed it off, and that’s why I felt so comfortable with him.

But still, there was something missing in our passion. I tried to push that thought aside and focus on the man I was with. I broke the kiss, stared into his pure blue eyes, and smiled. He smirked and leaned down to kiss me gently.

We stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, until the rest of the world faded away, leaving only us.