“Cry me a river, build me a bridge . . .” I couldn’t finish it. My whispered words chocked in my throat, and I felt the tears burning behind my eyes. No. Goddammit, I am not going to cry. I am not going to give him that satisfaction. I forced my features to compose themselves. I am stone. Uncaring. Nothing is wrong.

But there is something wrong. I know, but no one needs to see that. No one needs to know. You’re not fooling anyone. He knows. Does he really? He’s the one who caused this. It’s his fault your so confused, and he doesn’t seem to care. How do I know it’s not an act? Just like I’m an act? He listened to me. He heard the things I didn’t say- And he used you. Don’t you see that? He saw you at your weakest and he took advantage of you.

But . . .

‘But’ what?

But he helped me. And I think . . . I think he was serious.

My second voice is silent. The now familiar hollowness washes through my stomach. I close my eyes and draw my knees to my chest, trying not to remember, but knowing that I would anyway. And the memory plays behind my lids.

I wake with goose bumps all over my body, sweating and shaking. Glancing around, I see no one had noticed my unusual behavior. Although I suppose the vary fact that I had fallen asleep implied that I was not my usual self. I bite my lip, trying to force the lingering shards of my dream from my mind. “Bond . . .” A hand comes into my vision and gently blots away the drying tear from my cheek.

“You look angry when you sleep.”

I shrug apologetically. “Sorry.”

He looks at me, his eyes questioning. I shake my head. He is the one person who my dream would hurt the most. He and Bond were like brothers- best friends for so long that the bed I was sitting on had once been the latter’s.

Zoey comes in and leaps onto bed, bouncing up and down.

“Bored much?” I ask, twisting my mouth into a smile.

“You guys are so boring! Lets go do something!”

He shakes his head. “I’ve got a headache. I’m going to take a nap.”

I pull the covers over my head. “If you don’t stop, I’ll have to give you the bed!” She keeps bouncing. “Fine.” I stand up. He moves over on the futon, and I lie down next to him. “Thanks.”

Sleep comes easily. I’m so tired, that at first the dream doesn’t come. But then it’s there . . .

“Amy!” He’s shaking me gently, his arms wrapped around me, trying to protect me from the terrors in my sleep. “You were shaking. What’s wrong?”

I can feel dampness on my cheek. Shit, is there any way to explain that? “It’s just a dream.”

“You were talking, too.”

“Sorry.”

We say nothing for a while. I think about drifting off again, but know that the dreams will only return. He runs his hand up and down my arm, soothing away the lingering tremors of horror.

“What’s your dream about?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Why not? What’s it about?”

I pause. Do I really want to tell him? “Bond.” I have to say it twice before he hears me.

“Tell me about it.”

So I do. And when I’m done, he hugs me. We lie there for a long time, talking about Bond and family and high school drama. He tells me about his relationships, how he broke up with Kara on New Years Eve after he asked for a hug because it had been a bad day and was told to wait because it was almost her shot.

“Last time I checked relationships were supposed to be more important then alcohol,” I hear myself say.

“Yeah.”

I close my eyes. God, I’m so tired. He turns me slightly, and I obligingly shift so that I’m facing him, lying on my side. He gives me a hug.

“You’re a good kid.”

More time passes. He softly tickles my side, and I lift my head a little.

“Hey,”

Our eyes lock. Then he leans forward and kisses me gently, and I’m lost in the tenderness of his lips . . .

When we pull apart, I bury my face in his shoulder.

“Please tell me you’re not using me,” I whisper.

He pulls me close in a fierce embrace, and his response is just as soft as my question. “No. No. No. . .”

My eyes open. I can still feel his kiss on my lips, and no matter how hard I try I cannot push it away.

I made the choice, didn’t I? Yes. But you care for him, don’t you? Yes. Don’t let him get away.

What if he’s using me? He said he wasn’t, didn’t he? You’ve got to trust sometime. You can’t go through life never trusting! I’m afraid of being used.

I know. The voices in my head go silent. I have to talk to him. I know.