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I felt her fear before I heard her screams. Her nightmare pulsed into me, shaking me out of my own dream, which had had something to do with a beach and some hot guy rubbing suntan oil on me. Images—hers, not mine— tumbled through my mind: fire and blood, the smell of smoke, the twisted metal of a car. The pictures wrapped around me, suffocating me, until some rational part of my brain reminded me that this wasn't my dream. I woke up, strands of long, dark hair sticking to my forehead. Lissa lay in her bed, thrashing and screaming. I bolted out of mine, quickly crossing the few feet that separated us.
"Liss," I said, shaking her. "Liss, wake up.”
Her screams dropped off, replaced by soft whimpers. "Andre," she moaned."Oh God.”
I helped her sit up. "Liss, you aren't there anymore. Wake up.”
After a few moments, her eyes fluttered open, and in the dim lighting, I could see a
flicker of consciousness start to take over. Her frantic breathing slowed, and she
leaned into me, resting her head against my shoulder. I put an arm around her and
ran a hand over her hair.
"It's okay," I told her gently. "Every-thing's okay.”
"I had that dream.”
"Yeah. I know.”
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