I watch as it reaches up to me, as it begins to extend its long, ugly fingers toward the mattress, up over the side. I want to scream for my sister, but I don’t want her to come up here. I don’t want her to be a part of this. I don’t want her to see.

I check my reflection and connect with eyes that aren’t mine. Red eyes, set back in a face that isn’t mine, perched on top of a monstrous body that also isn’t mine. But it sits where I sit. Unmoving, with a wide-open mouth. Vicious jaws salivating, a slowly extending snout.

The realization is pure heartbreak. Last night changed me. I’m going to be different now.

Its nails dig into my thigh.

I’m not going to be the same.

—

There’s snarling and gasping, and it takes me a minute to understand that I just had a nightmare.

Having a nightmare during a nap seems particularly cruel. Regular sleep, fine. But to be betrayed by a nap? Uncool.

I wipe the sweat from my forehead.

Reaper, Scarlett’s disgruntled old Jack Russell terrier, growls at me.

“What? What do you want?”

He barks twice. He’s got the ugliest bark.

“Reaps!” I hear Scarlett call from downstairs.

The dog ignores my sister, committed to mean-mugging me.

“Reaps, you want a treat?” she calls up.

He narrows his eyes, abandoning his post only at the sound of the treat bag opening.

I groan and roll out of bed. I sniff my sheets, myself. Hospital, with notes of wet dog. My new signature fragrance.

“I also want a treat,” I whine, clomping down the stairs.

“She wakes! Perfect timing,” Scarlett says, slicing the bread to reveal a perfect swirl of black poppy seeds.

“Cut me one thick.”

“Mm,” she says, obliging. She slides it onto a pretty glass plate. “Milk?”

“Yes, please.”

Poppy seed bread is a comfort food for us, a childhood treat for days off from school or birthday breakfasts. We’d eat it and then smile at each other, modeling the black specks stuck in our teeth.

“Ash called,” Scarlett says. “She wants to come over tomorrow.”

“All right, good by me,” I say.

Not like I have anything else to do. I’m two weeks into my leave from work and starting to get bored.

Scarlett sits on the stool beside me. “I told her about Ian.”

“What about Ian?”

“That you saw him and that you should go out with him.”

“I already said I would,” I say, shoving a piece of bread into my mouth.

It tastes weird. There’s something off about it. It’s gummy. Acrid. But I’m not going to say that to Scarlett, and I didn’t realize how hungry I was until right this moment, so I swallow it anyway.

“Why are you tag-teaming me on something I already agreed to?”

“He’s had a crush on you forever! You have to admit it’d be a great story.”

“I was never interested in him like that,” I say. “How is it a great story? The world beat me down, so finally I was like ‘All right, guess you’ll do.’ ”