• The waves crash against my sun-kissed legs, and I shudder. I turn to my boyfriend, Crispin, and he smirks. I give him a quizzical look. He splashes me.
    I giggle, as I run back to the safety of the sandy shore. He chases after me, and we fall to the ground before I have time to think. He rolls me over, and my deep brown eyes lock with his hazel ones.
    He smiles softly, as I run my fingers through this light-brown surfer hair. But he doesn’t speak a word. He doesn’t need to.
    Soon, his lips are caressing the nape of my neck, and his own fingers are in his hair, clutching my hand. He holds me so tightly, it’s as though he’s afraid I’ll leave him. It is I who should be worried.
    “Abigail,” he whispers into my ear, “don’t be afraid.”
    “I’m not,” I reply. It’s a lie, of course. I’m terrified. Terrified of the real world.
    “This is the real world,” he says with a grin.
    “What?” I shudder as though the waves have hit me again.
    “This is the real world,” he repeats, petting my dirty blonde hair to reassure me.
    “How… how did you know I was thinking that?” I choke out.
    “Thinking? You said it aloud just now.”
    “No, I didn’t.” My palms begin to sweat. “I was thinking it, but I didn’t say anything.”
    “Abby, what’s the matter with you?” He sits up, as though lying beside me disgusts him. I follow his example, holding my head as I do so.
    “I don’t know, Crispin. I think I’m going insane.”
    “Only a dream.”
    “Did you hear that?” I look around the beach, but Crispin and I are the only ones there. It’s the perfect weather for a day at the beach. Why are we the only ones here?
    “Because it’s only a dream.”
    “Crispin!” I grab his equally tan arm. He looks at me strange behind his long lashes.
    “What’s wrong with you, Abby? Are you sick? Do we need to take you to the hospital?”
    “No, Crispin! “ I begin to cry in terror. “Don’t you hear that voice?”
    “Of course not. He isn’t real, and you are.”
    “Abby, you’re scaring me.” He stands up, and his legs begin to shift and blur as though the child coloring him has gone outside the lines.
    “Crispin, your legs…” I put my slender fingers to my mouth.
    He looks down, then at me. “Abby, my legs are fine. I really think you’re sick.”
    “No. You aren’t sick. You’re just dreaming.”
    “Stop it!” I put my hands against my ears, and the tears begin to pour. “Leave me alone!” I shut my eyes tight, and then everything feels strange. It feels like I’m falling.
    When I open my eyes again, I am lying on my bed in the safety of my room. I am crying. Hastily, I wipe my eyes and sit up.
    “Crispin,” I murmur. “Oh, Crispin.” I turn to the picture on my nightstand and pick it up, pulling it close to my chest. “Why did you leave me? I love you so much.”
    I remember what is real. I remember that Crispin drowned in the ocean a year ago. I don’t want to remember, but I do.
    I lie back down, with the picture of Crispin close to my heart, and I try to sleep again. My dreams are the only things that make sense anymore.