The Realm of You: A Novel

by Amanda Richardson

  “It’s romantic in its own way,” he says, defensive. His voice is lazy, and I can tell he’s about to fall asleep.

  “I would love to marry you,” I whisper. “One day.”

  His light snoring soon permeates the room, and I drift into a dreamless sleep shortly thereafter.

  *

  Drip, drip, drip.

  The sound of dripping water wakes me, and before I open my eyes, panic seizes my throat. The blobs of water hit the porcelain sink with such precision every time…

  No.

  I am lying on my stomach, arms and legs spread wide. My brain is foggy with sleep, and for a terrifying second, déjà vu paralyzes me.

  Sebastian.

  Where is Sebastian? The sheets are unfamiliar, the bed too firm to be ours...

  Drip, drip, drip.

  I squeeze my eyes shut and reach out for him, but he’s not there. The bed is not even warm. It’s possible he was never here. Did I imagine everything? The light streaming in from one of the windows lights up my eyelids. It must be early morning.

  Drip, drip, drip.

  The noise of dripping will be the death of me. I take two slow, deep breaths. I pull my arms into my chest.

  Drip, drip…

  My body goes cold as I wait for that last sequential drip, but it never comes. My hairs stand on end. All of this is way too familiar. I must be dreaming. This whole thing—it’s a figment of my imagination.

  Drip…

  More panicked than before, my eyes fly open, and the alien surroundings cause me to cry out.

  “Sebastian!” I wail. I collapse forward onto the sheets, sobbing.

  No, please, let this be some kind of nightmare…

  “Mi amor,” Sebastian coos, walking into the bedroom from the bathroom. Seeing him relaxes me instantly, relief flooding my body. It all starts to come back to me—first night in the new house, first night sleeping in the new bed with the new sheets. That must’ve triggered some sort of memory. “Shh. It was just a nightmare.” He crawls into bed and envelops me with his limbs. I’m sticky with sweat, but he pulls me in closer. My tears subside, my breathing slows.

  “I was so scared... You weren’t here, and…”

  “Shh. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

  His chest connects with my back, the perfect puzzle piece. After a minute, I feel his body slacken with slumber. It’s morning, but we have nowhere to be. As reality sets in, I find myself smiling, tugging his arm tighter around me.

  I hardly ever have nightmares anymore. Being together, being happy… we certainly don’t take those two things for granted. Life has been good for both of us—I don’t have a single complaint.

  Except his snoring, but I can deal with that. It’s a small price to pay to actually have him here, in my arms, day in and day out. If I’ve learned anything, it is to trust fate and listen to your dreams. What Dr. Hale said about Freud’s theory was right. Nothing we do occurs by chance. Every action and thought is motivated by our unconscious at some level. Even though, medically, it’s not possible to dream while truly unconscious, many people claim to have experienced it.

  I experienced it.

  Every once in a while, I’ll wake from a dream I’m certain was another realm. I don’t know why. I can’t explain it. But there are so many things in life we can’t explain. I can never remember those dreams, and I’m sure some of them don’t include Sebastian, but that’s okay. I made my dream my reality, and I get to wake up to him every single day.

  “I’m happy,” I whisper. I think he’s asleep, but he moves ever so quietly, twisting around to face me.

  “I’m happy too. And I love you, Marlin. Every atom.” He kisses my nose.

  His comforting words wrap around my heart, twisting their way into my soul and lulling me into a contented sleep. I know he’s right. If we can defeat the odds, overcome hardship, and still find our way to each other, then we’re the lucky ones.

  When life gives you a second chance, you have to grab it and never let go.

  The End

  Acknowledgements

  First of all, I want to thank anyone who has ever suffered from mental illness. Thank you for telling your story, both to me and publically. I tried to keep this story truthful, and drew both from personal experience but also from your stories. Stay strong, and most importantly, know that you’re not alone.

  To my small group of loyal readers… you are why I do this. You motivate me and hold me accountable, and your sweet reviews, emails, and messages make my day. Thank you so much!

  Thank you to all of my lovely beta readers! Talianna, Stephanie, Jackie, Meredith… you guys are awesome.

  Thank you to Susie and Lynn at Red Adept Editing for an awesome copy edit. I know I tend to overuse commas (seriously, you guys deleted at least two hundred! Craziness) and I can’t emphasize enough the difference a good editor makes.

  Thank you to my family, as always. Mom, Dad, Becky… I am so lucky. Also to my grandmothers, and my awesome soon-to-be family-in-law! Hugs and kisses.

  And lastly, Peter. This book was hard to write, and parts of it didn’t come easy. Thank you for encouraging me day in and day out, and for being the very first reader. As I’m writing this, it’s two weeks out from our wedding, and I feel so grateful to have chosen the path that I did. It lead me to you. I love you, always.

  About the Author

  Amanda Richardson is an award-winning travel writer turned indie author living in Los Angeles with her fiancé and two cats. When she’s not writing or reading (which, let’s be honest, accounts for 95% of her free time), she can be found Googling cheap flights to places she’s never been, talking to her cats, or obsessing over the British Royal Family. Fun fact: her first novel is about the Tudors. One day maybe, after a lot of wine, she might find the courage within her to publish it!

  You can visit her website here: http://www.amandarichardsonauthor.com

  Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/amandawritesbooks

  For news and updates, please sign up for my newsletter here!

  *If you enjoyed this story, please consider leaving a spoiler-free review!

  Excerpt from The Publicity Stunt, out in early 2016!

  Prologue

  Willa Parker—One Week Earlier

  “Willa, you’re on in five.”

  I give a thumbs up to the production assistant who points to his watch and turns around, talking into his headset. Tasha finishes my lipstick and stands back, scrutinizing my made up face.

  “Gorgeous. The color suits you,” she adds in her thick, Russian accent.

  “Thank you as always, Tasha. You make me look damn good. If you think about it, you’re the reason I have a job,” I say, smiling sweetly.

  “You don’t give yourself very much credit, do you?”

  “Oh, come on. Everyone in Hollywood knows that looks are all that matter.”

  “I’m not complaining, I have a job for that very reason, but no, you are good actress. You should win award.”

  “That’s the dream,” I chirp, grinning. I stand up and look at my reflection. “Nice job. I like this lip color.”

  “Chanel,” Tasha adds as she studies something on her phone.

  The door opens again, and the same P.A. points to his watch again, more urgently this time. He mouths “three minutes” and then he’s gone. I say a quick goodbye to Tasha and head out into the green room. People are swarming about, and I see a tower of food on one of the tables. My mouth waters, and I make a mental note to go back for some food when I’m done. I know Tasha won’t be impressed with the fact that I can eat three donuts in thirty seconds if it means I would ruin her hard work with food.

  “No. No, no, no.” My assistant, Brittany scurries up to me, frenzied. “Willa, they were supposed to put you in the black Tom Ford dress. Why are you wearing…” she steps back and assesses my dress. “What is that, anyways?”

  “What? It’s from Gwen Stefani—L.A.M.B.—her label?” I add, hoping I get my point ac
ross.

  “Yes, well, there’s a reason she’s a singer,” Britt hisses.

  I twirl around, flaunting my dress in front of Britt for good measure.

  “I like it. Much better then that boring dress you’d picked,” I tease.

  “Whatever. But as your in-house stylist, I must warn you that you might end up on some worst-dressed list tomorrow,” she mutters, stalking off. I can’t help but chuckle.

  I hear the audience laugh, and I know we’re going to cut to commercial soon, so I brace myself. The music starts, and I know I have about ninety seconds before it’s my segment. Conan will call my name and I’ll walk into the studio, just like we rehearsed earlier with the segment producers. I straighten my dress, clear my throat, and before I know it, the P.A. is ushering me to the other side of the curtain. I wait for the famous “Conan call,” where he’ll say my name and I’ll walk out.

  “Please welcome to the show, Willa Parker!” He extends my name so it sounds like Willllllla Parkerrrrrr. The trumpets are much louder in person.

  I move the curtain and walk out onto the stage. I try not to trip in my heels. I’m bombarded by the audience’s applause, and I smile and wave at them as Conan helps me up the stairs and to my sitting chair. He gives me a kiss on the cheek, and even though I’m a celebrity, I’m nervous because hey, it’s Conan.

  “Welcome, you look dazzling,” he says, as the applause dies down.

  “Thank you,” I say, adjusting my dress as I cross my legs. “You look dashing as always.”

  “Stop, I’m blushing,” he jokes. He gestures to my dress. “Cool dress.” I smile, hoping Britt heard his comment from backstage. It’s a dark grey, fitted dress, with different jagged layers running up to my waist, as if I were wearing five different dresses in various shades of grey. It looks stretchy, but it’s most certainly not.

  “Thanks! Can I tell you a secret?” I’m reciting my lines perfectly so far. I can’t believe that people still think talk shows are anything but scripted. Conan nods. “It’s so uncomfortable,” I groan, twisting uncomfortably in my seat. The audience roars with laughter. Always make yourself approachable. “I have to wear, like, fifteen Spanx just to fit into it.” The audience laughs again, and I keep the smile planted on my face.