This has been going on for weeks now. Every day, I wake up the same as any other. The sheets are soaked in sweat; a scream is dying in my throat. I don’t know if it’s one of rage, terror or anguish. There’s so much more to it (my dream, that is), but I can only remember the end. It haunts me.
Even when the routine of my day has ended and I slide myself between the sheets and push against May’s warm, soft body, her pressing...
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