During my first week of college, I began having recurring dreams of two men. Both claimed to be my boyfriend. Every time I woke up, my entire body ached. I eventually went to see a campus psychiatrist. "It’s just stress," he said with a gentle, slow smile as he wrote me a prescription. "Take these. They'll help you fall into a deep sleep." But after I started the medication, the dreams only grew longer. In the dreams, the other man would pin my wrists above my head and chuckle. "I told you to take it easy on her. If you go this long, she won’t be able to handle it." 1 "Look at you... you're so beautiful like this." The hand resting against my collarbone was elegant, with long, slender fingers. I couldn't see his face. "Aria, wake up!" Suddenly, someone shook me hard. My roommate, Chloe, was sitting on the edge of my bed, looking worried. she touched my sweat-drenched forehead. "Aria, are you sick? You’re burning up. Maybe we should go to the clinic." I was lying in my narrow dorm bed, heart hammering against my ribs, my muscles screaming in pain. "I’m... fine," I rasped, my voice sounding like I’d been screaming for hours. The clock on the wall ticked steadily. I moved my wrists; the lingering phantom pain from the dream felt terrifyingly real. Right before I woke up, those two men were debating exactly how to tie my hands so they could suspend me in front of the floor-length mirror... 2 This was the fourth time this week. Since moving into this dorm, the dreams had become a nightly occurrence. Two men. I could never see their faces. One was older, calm and composed. He wore expensive watches and had a voice so smooth it made my knees weak. A sophisticated predator. The other was younger. He spoke with a smile, but he was impulsive and aggressive. He never went easy on me. Both claimed they were my boyfriends. Both seemed hell-bent on breaking me. Every morning, I woke up so sore I had to use the bedpost for support just to stand up. "Aria, we're going to be late for Anatomy. Are you coming?" Chloe asked, clutching her textbooks. I’m a med student—a firm believer in science and logic. I told myself these dreams were just the result of the intense pressure of freshman year. But I didn't dare tell Chloe the details. She was the sensitive type; she’d probably freak out. 3 Friday afternoon. The anatomy lab was packed. Chloe had already snagged seats in the front row. "Aria, over here!" she called out. I was distracted, my mind still looped on the dreams, and I realized I had walked past her. As I tried to back up through the crowd, someone accidentally tripped me. I started to fall backward, books flying. Suddenly, a strong, firm hand caught me by the waist. "Careful. We wouldn't want you getting wet before the lecture starts." A low, slow laugh vibrated against my back. My legs nearly gave out. I had heard that exact voice—that exact tone—mocking me a thousand times in my dreams. Chloe mouthed a name to me: The TA. I slowly turned around. It was Silas Vance, a PhD candidate and the teaching assistant for our anatomy course. He was legendary on campus—brilliant, handsome, and completely untouchable. "Do you need a hand?" he asked, tilting his head. His dark eyes were filled with a knowing glint. I broke into a cold sweat. "No... I'm good. Thank you, Silas—I mean, Mr. Vance." "Take your seat, Aria. Class is starting," he smiled. I had never spoken to him before, yet the rumors about him were endless. Some said his "hobbies" were quite unconventional. The afternoon sun filtered through the high windows as Silas stood at the front of the lab in his white coat. He looked like a god cutting through the light. He pulled on latex gloves and picked up a scalpel. Chloe leaned in and whispered, "His dissection technique is famous. He's so precise." Silas seemed to hear her. He looked over and smiled at me. It wasn't a warm look; it was an analytical, piercing gaze that made my skin crawl. I watched his fingers move with surgical efficiency. I couldn't stop my mind from drifting back to the dreams. He moved exactly like the man in my nightmares—with that same effortless, terrifying control. I needed help. Real help. As soon as class ended, I fled the lab. 4 The university hospital was on the south side of campus. Friday was peak hours for the psychiatric department. I waited until my number was called. The office was quiet, bathed in the orange glow of the setting sun. I heard only the mechanical click of a mouse. A pale, elegant hand rested on the mouse. A luxury watch glinted on his wrist. Against the light, I could see his sharp jawline and broad shoulders. This was Dr. Elias Thorne, the university’s most renowned professor of clinical psychology. Young, brilliant, and devastatingly handsome. He practically radiated a cold, disciplined energy. "What seems to be the problem?" he asked softly. My heart skipped. That voice. It was the voice of the man who held me down in front of the mirror. "Student? Are you listening?" Dr. Thorne looked over the rim of his glasses. I licked my dry lips. He wasn't even looking at my chart; he was leaning back, waiting for me to speak. "I... I'm sorry. I've been having nightmares. Every night for a week." His expression became serious. "Nightmares? Any specific details?" I stammered, my face heating up. "They aren't exactly... scary. They're... suggestive. I'm being... toyed with." A flicker of something—amusement? curiosity?—passed through his cool eyes. He leaned forward. "And what do you think is the cause?" "Stress? Lack of sleep?" "Do you feel tired when you wake up?" he asked, his voice low and soothing, pulling me into his rhythm. "Yes, Professor. Very tired." He smiled knowingly and began writing a prescription. "It’s just stress. Don't worry. I’ll give you something to help you sleep deeply. It’ll be over soon." 5 That night, I sat at my desk looking at the bottle of sleeping pills. Chloe watched me, looking hesitant. "Did you see Dr. Thorne today?" "How did you know?" "Just a guess." She looked away and handed me a glass of water. "By the way, Aria, I think Silas is a good guy. Don't you?" "Maybe," I muttered, swallowing the pill. I expected a dreamless sleep. I was wrong. The dream returned with a vengeance. Both of them were there. "She’s out of it today," a cool voice said. "Take it easy." The room was bright. I thought of Silas, but I had no strength to say his name. Then, a more mature voice whispered in my ear. "It's okay. Just a routine check-up. I won't hurt you." I tried to struggle, but I couldn't wake up. The air smelled of galbanum, citrus, and hospital-grade disinfectant. It was the scent of the two of them combined. "So cute," one whispered before kissing me. I felt a sharp sting on my lip. The taste of copper filled my mouth. I felt like I was drowning, gasping for air like a fish out of water. A hand cupped the back of my head, patting my cheek. "Aria, breathe. You're going to choke yourself." Silas let out a frustrated laugh. "I told you to lower the dose. If she’s under for too long, she can’t handle it." Thud! I woke up on the floor. I had knocked over the washbasin by my bed. Chloe’s sleepy voice came from above. "Aria? It’s the weekend. Why are you making so much noise?" "Sorry..." I mumbled. I felt weak, as if I’d run a marathon. Then I felt it. A stinging pain on my lip. I went to the bathroom mirror. My hair was a mess, my face was flushed, and there—right on my lower lip—was a small, fresh cut. A bite mark. I looked down at my wrists. Faint, reddish marks were beginning to bloom on the pale skin. My blood ran cold. This wasn't a dream. 6 I was spiraling into self-doubt. Was I going crazy? Or was something else happening? "Aria, focus," Chloe said. "We have an elective today. Attendance is mandatory." Ten minutes later, I dragged my aching body into the lecture hall. Of course, we were late. "Latecomers, front row," a voice commanded. I looked up. Silas. He was leaning against the podium, smiling. The room was silent; he had failed half the class last semester. No one messed with him. As he called the roll, he paused at my name. "Aria Vance. Why are you late today?" "I couldn't get up," I whispered. "Oh? Doing what?" "Exercise," I stammered. Silas grinned. "Well, exercise only works if you're consistent. Perhaps you need more... practice." My face turned scarlet. Chloe leaned over. "He’s a catch, Aria. If I were you, I’d be thrilled." I looked at her. Why was she acting like he liked me? "Why would I be happy about that?" She blinked and looked at her pen. "Oh, you're just overthinking it..." 7 After class, Silas called me back. "Aria, come here. I have something for you." He sounded strictly professional. I walked back to the podium. He pulled a small bag from under the desk. "What is it?" "Medicated patches," he said, packing his notes. "For muscle strains. It’ll help you recover faster from your... exercise." I froze. He glanced at me. "Chloe mentioned you were struggling. She’s working with my mentor now. She’s like my younger sister." "Oh... I see." I felt a wave of shame. I had been imagining conspiracies where there were none.
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