I’m awake.

Something heavy is holding me down, and I cry out, flinging it off me. It’s not until I’ve tumbled out of the bed, which sits a foot higher than the one in my apartment, that I realize I’m not at home. When I see Ben staring down at me in half-awake confusion, I remember where I am.

I’m in Ben’s grandfather’s cabin. We were sleeping in a bed together. That was his arm holding, not restraining, me. There’s no terrible, creeping darkness.

“Holly? What’s wrong?” He slides out of the bed and crouches in front of me on the floor.

Seeing him here, awake and moving, helps push back the panic of moments before. On pure instinct, I lean forward, clutching his face in both my hands just to make sure he’s solid. When his scruff scratches my palms, I let out a sigh of relief.

“Nightmare. Just a nightmare,” my voice sounds ragged when I whisper the reassurance, and I wonder if I was crying out in my sleep.

Remembering then all the effects of my nightmares, I glance down to see that I’ve sweated through my pajamas.

Gross.

At least I don’t wet the bed anymore.

I drop my hands from his face and stiffly stand, moving over to my bag to search for something else to sleep in.

“That must have been a pretty nasty nightmare.” He doesn’t outright ask, but I can tell Ben wants to know what I dreamed about.

Usually, I only discuss it with Marcus. But my brain has never replaced my brother with someone else before.

What does that even mean?

All I have left in my bag are the clothes I planned to wear in the car tomorrow, which I really don’t want to sleep in.

Maybe there are other benefits to more.

“I’ll tell you about it if you lend me a shirt to sleep in. I have the unfortunate habit of sweating a bit when I have nightmares.”

Ben doesn’t hesitate to head over to his bedroom. I check the clock and find the glowing numbers read 2:23 a.m. Second night in a row I’ve woken him up for no good reason.

When he returns with a soft white T-shirt, I tamp down my urge to kiss him. I want to change out of my sticky clothes first.

“Turn around.” In the faint glow of the digital clock, I see him smile before he complies.

I peel off the tank top and pajama pants, tossing them in a corner to be dealt with in the morning, and then slip the clean cotton on. Much better.

“I’m decent.”

The moment he turns back to me, I wrap my arms around his waist, still needing some more reassurance. Ben leads me back to the bed, tucking us both under the covers. He brushes my hair behind my ear and stares down at me. Waiting.

“Sometimes—not every night, only sometimes—I dream about the night my grams died. She had a heart attack when it was just her, Marcus, and me in the house. We found her when it was too late to do anything. She was just gone.” I breathe in deep and slowly let the air back out. “I dream about that night, walking into her bedroom. Only, in my nightmare, I don’t find her in the bed. I find my brother.” Or at least, I usually do.