by E. J. Mellow
Contents
Copyright
Praise for The Dreamer
Title
Dedication
Prologue
Quote
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Acknowledgments
Excerpt from The Divide
The Divide Chapter 1
Also by EJ Mellow
About the Author
The Dreamer
Copyright © 2015 E.J. Mellow
Kindle Edition
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical article and reviews. Making or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to criminal and civil liability.
Published by Four Eyed Owl
Editing: Julia McCarthy
Cover Design: E.J. Mellow
Cover Typography: Mercy Lolimen
Cover Photography: Elena Kalis
www.elenakalisphoto.com
ISBN 978-0-9962114-0-6
“Lyrical, vibrant, imaginative. EJ Mellow's striking, original voice will draw you into a mesmerizing world.”
- Emma Raveling, Author of the Ondine Quartet
“E.J. Mellow's world-building skills are breathtaking!”
- Cassandra Reads A Lot
“A new voice in NA that I can't wait to hear more of.”
- Will Read For Feels
“This book has counted toward my most anticipated reads this year. It has fully lived up to my expectations!”
- The Reading Nook NZ
“This book totally kept me coming back for more.”
- Awesome Book Assesment
To all those who dream.
And to my family who taught me how.
Prologue
The sleeping pills are small in my hand, nonthreatening and white, but my forearm aches from the weight of them. Bad decisions can be surprisingly heavy.
Glancing into the mirror, I study sunken eyes rimmed with dark shadows and hair that falls disheveled and knotted. I don’t know this girl.
Pinching away another wave of frustration that threatens tears, I search back in my mind, disoriented between what is now and what was then. The only certainty I hold on to is that I’ve begun to hate it here.
Have I gone crazy? Is any of this even real?
As I gaze at the face reflected in front of me, I know there’s only one way to answer my questions.
I pop the pills into my mouth and swallow.
Dreams are true while they last,
and do we not live in dreams?
—Tennyson
— 1 —
I MIGHT BE losing my eyesight. That, or I’ve been staring at my laptop and the slim amount of notes I’ve written for far too long. It all appears like little blurry ants on my screen. Words, ants, words, ants. I’ve been attempting to type up the notes from my recent status meeting for the past hour, but since I zoned out and didn’t take any in the first place, it’s proving rather difficult. This is something that probably shouldn’t happen after working for two years at a top New York marketing agency, but what can I say? A lot of things happen in life that shouldn’t.
“Mols!” Becca, my best friend since our freshman year of college, leans over the back of my chair. A red lock of her hair falls across my shoulder, and I distractedly push it away, noting that our features couldn’t be more contradictory. Becca reminds me of the best parts of summer with her bright sunset mane and eyes the color of freshly cut grass, while I more closely resemble the cold months—dark-brown hair and plain brown eyes. The one visual trait we do share is the spray of freckles on our faces, which we both like to count when the sun harvests them to life in the summer.
“Hey, Bec, how did your meeting go with that director?” I ask as I type usefully vague phrases like “status regroup,” “streamline creative,” and “circle back to billable and nonbillable” on my screen. Thank you, jargon gods.
Becca slouches into the chair next to me, a familiar posture for her brought on by working as a producer at the agency. “Ugh, not well. You should have seen Tony’s face on the call. I had to keep reaching over to squeeze his arm so he wouldn’t throw the phone off the table.”
I glance at her wryly. “I’m sure you would have gladly kept squeezing even if the call went smoothly.”
“Molly!” Becca smacks my shoulder in mock horror as she peers around nervously.
I bite back a laugh, knowing full well I’m not the only one in the office privy to secrets regarding Becca and her work crushes. Tony, a creative director here, is someone Becca has been swooning over for about three years. Did I mention he’s married?
Pressing Send on my patchworked e-mail, I lean back, glancing at the clock, and let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. T-minus seventy-two hours until the weekend.
“So, what do you and Jared have planned for tonight?” Becca rests her cheek in her hand.
“I think he’s taking me to Bar Le Duc in the West Village.” I close my laptop and swivel to face her.
“Your favorite! Good going, Jared. But I guess it is your birthday, so if he didn’t bring you somewhere nice, I’d have to make a note on the Discard list.”
I barely contain a snort at her need to compartmentalize life into lists. “Yeah, it should be fun. Except I still have to work tonight, so I can’t go hog wild and crazy like I know you’d want me to.”
“Shit on work. You’re pushing a pharmaceutical sleeping pill—those things practically sell themselves! Plus, it’s your birthday. Jim will understand if you come in a little late and puffy around the eyes…and hopefully lips,” she says with a wink.
“Eww, gross.” I shove her knee. “If there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that my boss certainly won’t understand. We have a big meeting with the client tomorrow morning, and I have to get the presentation together.” I pop up from my desk and cram my laptop, cell phone, and headphones into my bag.
“Okay, dollface—well, you have fun, and I hope to hear some great birthday fooling around was had.” Becca gives me one of her lovely slap-on-the-butt good-byes as I make my way toward the elevators, thinking about the recipient of said fooling around that I’m about to meet.
—∞—
The evening air is uncharacteristically warm for early spring and adds a lightness to my step as I turn the corner onto Perry Street, catching sight of the man of the hour. Jared leans against a lamppost outside the restaurant, lazily scrolling through his phone, so I take advantage of his averted attention to do my normal ogling. The first time I met Jared, I fantasized that he was born from the pages of a Jane Austen novel, with the well-bred tilt of his smile and the way his
honey-wheat hair had a habit of appearing perfectly windblown. But then I was introduced to his eyes and the power they had to flip from honorable to licentious in a single blink, suggesting he might have come more suitably from a Brontë sister. Just as I’m taking my final visual drag over his dark fitted jeans and snug white oxford shirt, he glances up, hazel eyes growing warm as they find me, and he smiles. A bit flustered, I tuck one side of my hair behind my ear.
“Hey, you.” He leans down, giving me a kiss, and I take in his signature guy scent of fresh laundry and cologne. “Happy Birthday.”
“Thanks.” I smile back. “Shall we?” I motion toward the entrance of the restaurant.
“As they say, ‘Age before beauty.’” He gives me a flirty wink.
I roll my eyes. “I’m only twenty-four. Last I looked, you’ve still got a good three years on me.”
His grin grows. “Like I said, ‘Age before beauty.’” He makes his way in front of me.
“Jared!” I jokingly push him from behind, and he turns around, laughing.
“Maybe I should have said, ‘Ladies first.’” And with that, he opens the door for me and we walk inside.
—∞—
Bar Le Duc is a cute little French restaurant tucked away in the West Village. I found it on one of my random walks through the neighborhood and fell in love. The stone walls with exposed wood beams overhead, light-cream colors, and small three-part French band that croons in the corner evoke an old, dreamy ambiance. The wine is meant to be sipped, and the meals are brought out at a leisurely pace, making the atmosphere a comforting break from the impatience of the city. This definitely gets you a notch on the Pros list, Jared.
“You know, we do still have time to order another side for you.” I try trapping Jared’s fork with mine to keep him from capturing another one of my brussels sprouts. Then again…
“But what would be the fun in that?” Jared pops his new conquest into his mouth. “I find that hunting for my food builds up my appetite.”
“And it’s proving to be quite the appetite.” I smile wryly and pull my plate closer.
“Just wait until after dinner—you’ll be astounded to see my appetite then.” He places his hand on mine and wiggles his eyebrows like a villain.
“Oh, sir, I now see how you ensnare so many ladies.” In an exaggerated gesture, I throw my hand over my heart.
“It’s true. You should feel lucky that I’ve spared so much of my time for you tonight. The handful of other maidens I had to cancel on was gut wrenching.”
“Well then, dry those tears, for I actually have to finish some work tonight. Those other maidens can do with your services after all.” I pat his hand playfully.
“Wait…seriously?” Jared slouches in his chair.
Crap.
“Uh…yeah, I’m sorry. I must have forgotten to mention it, but I need to finish a presentation for an early meeting tomorrow.” I nervously play with my fork. “Are you mad?” I ask, trying to read any sort of emotion on his face, but he quickly relaxes his forehead.
“No, no, I understand. Work is work. Just thought we could go for drinks or something after this, and then maybe go back to my place. It is your birthday, after all.”
“I know. Trust me, I wish I didn’t have to do this either. I don’t know what else to say besides…I’m really sorry.” I end my explanation with a don’t be mad, look how cute I am face.
A small smile creeps across his lips, and he throws up his hands. “You know I can’t stay mad when you look at me like that.” I hold my expression a bit longer, and Jared begins to laugh. “Man, you’re good.”
“I was the only child. I needed to master the art of getting out of trouble with a single look.”
“Well, I’d say you’ve earned yourself a black belt in that. Poor parents.”
“Thanks,” I respond smugly.
Jared chuckles and then grows quiet, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a small navy box. “I was going to do this when we were getting drinks or back at my place, but now that you’ve forced my hand”—he smiles to show that he’s teasing—“I’ll give it to you now.” With anxious eyes that make him appear younger, vulnerable, and somehow even cuter than usual, he places the box in front of me.
I handle the present with a delicate touch and force a happy look onto my face, hiding the nervous queasiness that always accompanies opening gifts in front of people. To my extreme relief, it’s a tasteful silver charm bracelet. “Jared, I love it!” His shoulders relax with my reaction, and he grins.
“I saw it, and it reminded me of you. I know how you like to collect little trinkets wherever you go, so I thought you could collect charms here.”
My face flushes at the realization that he knew this about me after only dating for a few months, but I guess the shelf of random objects I have in my apartment gave me away. For every place I visit—city, town, or airport—I like to find a small something to remind me I was there. That, or I have a strange hoarding disorder.
“It’s absolutely perfect, really.”
Jared helps me clasp it on. “I got you your first charm. I hope you like it—it’s of the Empire State Building.” He fingers the tiny building that now dangles from my wrist.
Walking around to his side of the table, I give him a kiss.
“Like I said, it’s perfect.”
—∞—
After dinner, Jared tries to convince me to ditch my work and go for a drink, but I stay firm, promising that I’ll make it up to him this weekend. Defeated, he wraps me in his arms and leaves me with a kiss that would raise anyone’s blood pressure. Oh my.
Heading back to my apartment, which is only a few blocks away on Jones Street, I check my phone to find a missed call and a voicemail from home.
“Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday dear Mols, Happy Birthday to youuuuu!” My parents’ voices sing off-key. “Hope you’re having a great day, love! Dad and I are eating a cupcake in your honor. Give us a call when you can. Love you!” I smile and am about to hit Redial when the wind picks up and the ominous rumbling of another sporadic April shower sounds in the distance.
I quicken my pace, hoping that I’ll make it to my apartment before it starts raining too hard. I’ll give them a ring then. I hardly make it another block before the skies open and pour down a monsoon.
Well, Happy Birthday to me.
Cursing six ways til Sunday, I push on, my dress clinging unceremoniously and my feet slipping forward in my heels. Stopping under a doorway to wait it out will only make me more irritable—nobody deserves to stand around in drenched clothes on her birthday—so I keep slopping home as the storm grows increasingly more violent.
My hair’s completely soaked, and I’m in the middle of pushing it from my face when a huge crack of lightning flashes nearby. Shocked, I fall forward, dropping my purse, but luckily catch a streetlight to steady myself. I’m about to step away when another loud CRACK explodes and the brightest light I’ve ever seen surrounds me.
Time stops as a million things happen at once: The most excruciating pain I’ve ever felt extends from the palm of my hand up my arm to envelop me as a scream tries to escape my lips but gets stuck in my throat. My whole body burns like the hottest part of a flame and fights being torn from the inside out. Agonizing splinters of energy course through my body and pierce my brain like a knife jamming into my forehead. Then suddenly, I sense myself lifting off the ground, suspended in midair, and with a rush I slam down onto a hard surface.
Finally, time moves forward and everything goes black.
—∞—
I’m in nothingness, floating inside a heavy silence. Through the thickness, someone says my name, and I try opening my eyes, but they stay shut. Yet I begin to see things: The color blue pulses in front of me, receding into the deepest crystal-blue eyes I’ve ever seen. A smile appears. The mouth and eyes are surrounded in blackness, but the form speaks in a calm, deep voice. You’
ll be okay, Molly. Trust me. As soon as the words are uttered, I begin to relax, though I can’t pinpoint why the sound of that voice comforts me.
The vision changes, and the silhouette of a city bordered by a never-ending field flashes before me, the dark sky covered with an infinite amount of shooting stars. I take in the smell of night and spice. The vivid blue eyes appear again, this time accompanied by the blurred outline of a man’s face, and I desperately try looking through the haze to make him out. His features come into focus for one beat of my heart, and my stomach flutters at the raw, masculine beauty that materializes. He’s all darkness and angles and moon-kissed skin hidden under forgotten stubble, sapphire jeweled eyes blazing against the shadows that surround him.
The face begins to blur again as he whispers the words Terra Somniorum and cocks his mouth into a mischievous grin. Callused yet soft hands brush across my cheek. Molly, he whispers. I can’t mistake the urgency in his tone.
Molly.
“Molly.” This time it sounds different, muffled and female. Like the shock of jumping into freezing water, I’m swiftly aware of my whole body, and an all-consuming pain radiates throughout me. I moan, forcing my eyes open only to be temporarily blinded by sharp white light. Though it feels like I have earplugs in, I pick up the constant beeping of a heart monitor nearby.
“Oh, Molly! You’re awake. Can you hear me?” I carefully turn my head to my mother, sitting next to the bed I’m lying in. I blink.
“Mols, you’re in the hospital. You were struck by lightning.” Her voice cracks as she grabs my hand and begins to sob.
