Read Online Figment by Elizabeth Woods - Free Book Online

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    The car is climbing up the road again, and now I know I am dreaming. I know I have been here before, and I know how this dream ends. But I cannot wake myself, and I struggle against the weight of my sleep-paralyzed body. I am a prisoner of the nightmare, and, helplessly, I watch as Davis once again mouths the invisible words I cannot understand. I lean in closer, trying to understand him, but then my attention is distracted by the wicked, gleaming curve of asphalt in front of us. I know what will happen when we reach the top of the hill, but still, I cannot stop us. Futilely, I grasp the car handle as the guardrail gives way with a sickening crunch. Once again, we are flying through the air until everything goes black.

Eight
    My mother always says that things look better in the morning, no matter what happened the night before. And it was true that when I opened my eyes to the London fog at my windows, I did feel better. The horrors of the night before were reduced in the face of such mundane details as my hairbrush on the dresser and last night’s dirty underwear crumpled under the chair.
    I pulled on jeans and a navy-blue T-shirt, slid the infinity charm into my pocket, and slipped out to the kitchen, where I found a note on the bare table.
    You were still sleeping when we left for the embassy meeting, so we didn’t want to wake you , read my mother’s handwriting. Dad and I know you must be upset after last night. We’re concerned, too. We’ll need to talk after we get home later. Love, M & D
    I stared at the note a second longer, then took the candle lighter from the junk drawer. I lit the note and left the ashes in the sink. They could find that when they got home.
    The dank fog and flat white sky outdoors did even more to calm my nerves. It is hard to imagine insanity when you are watching pigeons fighting over a hot dog bun on the sidewalk, as I was while I waited for the light to change.
    I hurried down the hill toward the river, where the green awning of the coffee cart flapped like a giant handkerchief in the wind. I squinted as I approached, trying to make out Davis’s lanky figure, leaning against the river railing, perhaps, or handing over a pound note to the vendor.
    “Have you been sick, lass?” Harold asked as he handed over two coffees and a croissant. “You’re looking a bit pale this morning.”
    “Not exactly.” I avoided his concerned gaze as it lingered on my chalk-white cheeks and red-rimmed eyes.
    Then, to my immense relief, I spotted Davis’s form coming down the promenade, waving.
    “Thanks!” I cried to Harold, and I hurried away.
    “I have never in my life been so glad to see you.” I practically threw myself into Davis’s arms, almost upending the coffees onto his jacket.
    “Hey, okay, now.” He patted my back and then gently removed the drinks from my unreliable grasp. “What’s wrong?” His eyebrows creased as he noted my wraithlike appearance.
    “Nothing. Not anymore.” I encircled his broad back in a hug.
    But just as my arms went around him, the world blurred, and my mind filled with the screech of twisted metal, the bang of tires popping. My body suddenly felt jolted, my brain wiped clean of all sensation except the crunch of my own bones. I staggered backward, my hands gripping my temples as if to squeeze the pain out.
    I moaned, and Davis moved quickly, catching me by my upper arms. “Zo!”
    The sensations retreated, and I opened my eyes and saw his face above mine, knit with concern.
    “I’m fine,” I said automatically. But even as I pressed my head against his chest and heard the strong lub-dub of his heart under my ear, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being skewed sideways.
    Davis’s eyes searched mine as his hands held my arms tightly. He leaned down and pressed a slow, hot kiss to my lips. “Does that help?”
    I nodded my head mutely.
    He kissed me again, wrapping his arms around my shoulders and waist, bending me backward. “How about