My eyes fly open to catch him watching me. Before I can reflect on how odd I must have looked with my eyes closed and my head tilted toward him, before it fully registers how sharply defined his cheekbones are, his green eyes meet mine, and everything goes dark.
I’m in his head, seeing his thoughts. I can still see with my own eyes—I see his face, the worried, tortured expression in his eyes, but it’s all in the background. The scene unfolding in his head takes center stage. It’s not like the random flashes I usually get, and there are no words at all. It feels stronger than a daydream and plays like a scene from a movie.
It’s pitch-black, but I can hear heavy, labored breathing. Someone is either in pain or very scared. Maybe both. There’s a clicking rhythm of high heels on a hard surface. Someone running away.
Fear scurries across my skin as I realize it’s me. The person running away—the person in the dark—it’s me. I don’t know how I know. I just do.
The darkness is overwhelming. There’s no hint of light. And the “me” in his head stops moving. Crying now—a helpless, hopeless whimper.
There’s a sickening sound—I’m not sure exactly what it is—and the “me” in his head gasps before falling to the ground.
I pull out of Lance’s head and blurt out, “What the hell was that?”
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