It Wasn't a Dream

I didn’t sleep a minute all night.

Between the pain in my nose and mouth, the headache, and… the cold.

I pulled every blanket I owned up to my neck. It didn’t help. The cold wasn’t coming from outside.

Every time I closed my eyes, I felt a faint tug—like something inside me hadn’t been properly sealed, or like something had been torn out and my body hadn’t caught up to the loss yet.

It didn’t hurt. It wasn’t scary.

It just wouldn’t let me rest.

The clock kept moving without me moving with it. My eyes feel like they’re going to fall out any second.

“Maybe that’s all it was,” I think. “Exhaustion. A bad dream. A weird combination. That happens when your body doesn’t get to rest.”

Three knocks on the door make me bolt upright.

“Elena? Are you in there?” I hear from outside.

Carmen.

I go to the bathroom before opening.

The mirror shows me a swollen face. Split lip. Bruised nose.

The gauze—discarded in the trash.

It wasn’t a dream.

Carmen keeps knocking while I try to cover the bruise with a little makeup. After a few minutes, I finally open the door.

“Elena! Are you okay?” Carmen says, pushing her way into my apartment. “I tried to reach you all morning, but your phone was off.”

I scan the room. My phone is on the bed, unplugged.

“Sorry,” I say, yawning. “I fell asleep and didn’t charge it. It must’ve died.”

“Did you go to bed late?” she asks, worry slipping into her tone.

“A little… I lost track of time.”

Not a lie. I don’t even know what time it is. Carmen moves around like she lives here, sits down at my desk, legs crossed—professional mode: on.

“Just so you know,” she says, scolding me, “I had to face the professor today. We were supposed to deliver the podcast project report an hour ago.”

An hour ago? What time is it? I finally catch the wall clock.

Noon.

I missed all my morning classes. Anxiety knots in my throat.

“That…” I say, rubbing my forehead. “I’m sorry. I completely forgot. And with my phone dead, I didn’t have an alarm…”

Carmen looks me up and down with her natural talent for spotting lies. I hate when she does that. She sighs.

“It’s fine,” she says. “I bought us a few extra hours. We have four hours to submit the report.”

“Okay,” I say, relieved. “Let me take a shower and we’ll work. Can you order food?”

“On your account? Of course.”

“Yeah, yeah… I owe you.”

Hot water helped more than I expected. It didn’t fix anything important, but it pushed the cold back far enough for me to think clearly.

The bathroom mirror still showed me a battered version of myself, but at least I could look at her without wanting to turn away. It was my face. Damaged, but mine.

Even from the bathroom, I can smell the food. I still have to cover the bruises with makeup—though I’m not sure it’s doing anything. Maybe Carmen is just pretending not to see.

I step out in a clean T-shirt, hair half-dried. Carmen has already turned my desk into an improvised lunch table, pushing aside stacks of books and my laptop.

Two steaming cardboard boxes sit in front of her.

“It’s that pasta place that opened near the library,” she says, opening one. “Hope you like ravioli.”

Carmen knows I love ravioli. She’s indulging me.

I don’t know if it’s the heat from the food or simply the fact that I’m sitting here, eating something delicious with my best friend—but for the first time since last night, the world stops spinning so fast.

“Okay,” I say with my mouth full. “This is really good.”

“Told you,” she replies. “This sauce is everything.”

We eat for a few minutes in comfortable silence. The kind that doesn’t weigh. Carmen tears off a piece of bread and glances at me.

“Last night’s episode got us a few subscribers,” she says. “I told you bringing Gabriel was a good idea.”

“Thanks to him, we went from five bots to ten,” I say.

“Seven,” she corrects. “The other three are human…”

She shrugs.

“And—thanks for being pretty discreet about… us.”

I raise an eyebrow, waiting.

“You know,” she continues. “Gabriel. Me. Us.”

I blink. Lower my food container.

“Carmen,” I say gently. “It’s not a secret.”

“Huh?”

“It’s not a secret. It’s obvious. Painfully obvious.”

She chokes a little on her noodles.

“It is not! We’re discreet!”

I extend my fingers, counting.

“You look at each other like you’re the only two people in the world.”

“That doesn’t—”

“You always sit together.”

“Coincidences.”

“And last night… I saw you fixing his shirt collar.”

She freezes.

“What…?”

“With your teeth,” I add. “Very subtle. Very professional.”

Carmen covers her face with both hands and makes a muffled groan.

“It’s not my fault,” I continue. “The video call was still on. I thought I’d ended it—and you didn’t end it either. It’s not my fault the universe decided I should witness that.”

Silence. Carmen stays hidden behind her hands.

“Relax,” I say. “I’m not judging.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Maybe a little,” I admit. “Lovingly.”

I reach out and pat her shoulder.

“Relax. I won’t tell anyone. Your secret’s safe.”

That pulls a laugh out of her.

“Thanks, Elena.”

“But if you get any more obvious, I make no promises.”

“Deal.”

Silence returns for a few seconds. For the first time since the night before, the room feels almost normal.

Almost.

“So…” Carmen says, hesitating. “Are you going to tell me what happened to you?”

I go still. Fork suspended midair. I swallow.

“What?” I play dumb. “Why?”

“For no reason, just…” She gestures at my face. “And also because of that over there…”

She points to the corner of the room. The shirt I wore last night is lying there. The blood is dry.

“It’s not my blood,” I say, like that explains anything.

“Oh, well,” Carmen says. “That clears everything right up.”

I sigh, lowering the fork slowly.

“You remember I went out for a walk last night.”

“Uh-huh…”

“I walked farther than I meant to. I ended up at the south field.”

Carmen frowns.

“The hill Gabriel mentioned?”

“Yeah. The…” I make air quotes. “‘Entity.’”

“Elena…”

“I know how it sounds,” I cut in, lifting a hand. “But it wasn’t like Gabriel said. It wasn’t a monster or anything.”

Carmen massages her temple.

“So…” she says. “This ‘entity’…”

“Lorcan,” I interrupt.

“Who?”

“Lorcan. The ‘entity’ is named Lorcan.”

“You named the entity ‘Lorcan’?” she asks, confused.

“He already had that name! He wasn’t an entity—he was just a guy. Can you let me explain? It’s not simple.”

Carmen shifts in her chair and gestures for me to continue.

“Okay,” I say. “Lorcan was on the hill watching the football match.”

“Classic.”

“Turns out he’s always there, so mystery solved: he’s not a specter, he’s a spectator.” I pause, waiting for laughter. I get silence. “Then there was an accident. A ball—really hard. Somehow it hits me square in the face.”

Carmen watches me, I can see the processing happening behind her eyes.

“That explains the bruises,” she says slowly. “But… the blood?”

For a moment, blurred images surface in my mind. And the cold. A faint twitch in my left eye. That familiar tug in my stomach. I press my lips together.

“Everything after the ball is confusing,” I say. “Just… fragments.”

Carmen doesn’t smile.

“Elena…”

“I don’t understand what happened,” I cut in. “But I’d rather we didn’t talk about it. I’m sorry.”

There’s a long silence. Carmen keeps analyzing me. Finally, she nods.

“Okay. I won’t push. Just… tell me if you need help, alright?”

I nod.

Carmen stands up. She’s wearing a malicious smile.

“Now, what do you say that while I digest these noodles and supervise, you put together that metrics report and the presentation?”

I stare at her. I can’t believe her.

“What?”

“I convinced the professor to give us more time while my partner slept like she’d lost a street fight,” she says. “And I brought food.”

“That I paid for,” I mutter.

“Details.”

I protest, but there’s nothing I can do. I sigh.

“I reluctantly accept.”

“Excellent,” Carmen says, flopping onto the couch.

I rescue my laptop from the pile Carmen made earlier and start reviewing the numbers again.

For now, it’s the best kind of problem I want to have.