I don’t even see him move, but the door unlocks.
As soon as it does, I’m out like a bullet, running away from the car and into the ocean of grass.
I hear Cillian swear from behind me, but I don’t slow down. I keep running until my lungs feel like they’re going to burst right out of my chest.
I run and run and run.
Like I can escape this fucked-up dream-turned-nightmare-turned-dream.
I only fall to my knees when I can’t run anymore.
The grass feels soft and comforting underneath my touch. I clench my fists and pull up tufts in each hand. Loose blades just sift through my fingers, falling off like fine dust, unwilling to be tied to anyone.
“Is there a reason you’re running from me like I’m the enemy?”
I look up at Cillian.
He’s run over here, too, but unlike me, he hasn’t broken a sweat. He doesn’t even look tired.
I fall back against the grass with my face to the dark, starlit sky.
He takes a step forward and looks down at me. His face outlined against the Irish heavens.
He’s gotta be a dream.
He’s too perfect.
I’m too broken.
“Are you real?” I ask in a delicate whisper.
He smiles. It’s like the sun has come out in the middle of the night.
“Take my hand,” he says, stretching it down towards me, “and find out.”