Page 52 of Dreamscape Therapies

His mind has built a sanctuary.

"Jay!"

I look up and find Vincent sitting at the bar a few stools away, smiling at me, almost overly excited to see me.

"There you are!" he calls, waving me over.

The sight of him makes something in my chest loosen. He looks rested. There are no dark circles beneath his eyes, no tension around his mouth, and none of the exhaustion I've become accustomed to seeing whenever he shows up for a session after another night of nightmares.

Vincent looks like a man who doesn’t have a single problem in the world.

I make my way toward him, weaving between the tables. There are several familiar faces scattered throughout the bar, though they aren't necessarily people I know well enough to belong in my own dreams. Eric is at the dartboard, loudly celebrating a bullseye while his boyfriend, Ewan, stands nearby watching him with an expression that suggests he's seen this exact performance many times before.

In one of the booths, Hale is curled comfortably against Aksel while the two of them argue over whether the jukebox should be allowed to play country music.

Something about Hale catches my attention. He's not pregnant. In reality, his pregnancy is impossible to miss. Here, there isn't even a hint of it. I file that away.

Vincent's subconscious isn't recreating reality; it's recreating comfort.

I take the stool beside him.

"You hungry?" he asks, reaching beneath the bar for a menu.

"Always."

"I hear this place serves amazing burgers."

"Yeah? I'll have to try one." I give him a wink and enjoy as the faintest blush creeps across his cheeks before disappearing beneath his trimmed beard.

"I'll go grab one for you."

He gets up and disappears through the kitchen doors before I have a chance to tell him he doesn't actually need to feed me in his own dream.

I wait.

A minute passes.

Then another.

I glance toward the kitchen.

Vincent should have been back by now.

It's a small thing, but my instincts latch onto it. I've spent enough time studying dreams to know that inconsistencies matter. The subconscious is capable of creating incredibly detailed environments, but it doesn't always understand the concept of continuity. When something is wrong, the dream tends to reveal it in small ways first.

Three minutes pass.

The music skips, but nobody reacts.

I look toward the nearest table and watch a man lift his beer to his mouth. For just a fraction of a second, the liquid inside the glass looks wrong. Instead of beer, I see thick white thread spilling over his lips and trailing down his chin.

I blink.

The glass is filled with beer again. The man continues drinking as though nothing happened.

My pulse quickens.

Vincent finally comes through the kitchen doors carrying a basket.