There are men gathered outside the diner. None of them is Dominic.

         In fact, I can’t seem to make out their faces – each of them is hidden in ever-shifting blurs, but all four appear to be wearing black suits.

​

         I tighten my fist, and realize that my keys – my weapon – are gone.

         I see the men begin walking toward me like one body. I turn to make a run for my car.

​

         The parking lot is gone.

​

         What stands before me – around me, is the charred forest from the last nightmare.

         I run, anyway. If I’m going to escape them, I know I have to run.

         Barreling through the darkness of the Burned Place, I keep looking behind me.

         I don’t see them anymore.

         Just as I’m sure I’ve lost them, I dash around a corner and stop so quickly I slide in the ash. Somehow I keep my footing.

         They’re in front of me. Standing maybe twenty paces in my way. It’s like they’ve been waiting for me.

         I hear a growl behind, but it’s the sound of a twig snapping that gets me to look over my shoulder.

​

         I want to cry.

 

         I’m trapped between the Grinning Dragon, and the strangers in suits.

         I am so afraid. I don’t know what to do.

         The dragon drools. Head down, sharp shoulders up – clawed hands gripping the ground. Its huge, muscular, wingless body is poised to pounce. The tail sways behind it.

         The men begin moving toward me, almost gliding. That’s when I see it. A light shimmers through the trees on my left. It’s small – distant, but it looks like a doorway. I bolt sideways, knowing I have to reach it.

         In one leap, the dragon is after me. The men are after me. One of them yells.

         “Wait! Stop! We don’t want to hurt you!”

         The voice was like any other, but I’m not convinced. I have a bad feeling.

         I run as hard as I can. I run so hard, so fast, I barely notice the shadowy humanoid form that zips by, too fast to see, until I feel the wind from it.

         I’m too terrified to look back. I’m afraid I’ll trip if I do. I know they’re getting closer.

​

         Either the dragon will get me, or they will.

 

         My feet carry me forward as fast as I can go. The light doesn’t seem to be getting any closer or brighter.

         With a scream, I try to stop – to avoid running into the black pool amid the trees, from where the dragon came.

​

         I can’t catch myself.

 

         I fall forward into my bed, but the last thing I see is that liquid obsidian surface rushing toward me.

         I wonder why my screaming doesn’t wake Mom.

         When I look at the clock, it’s not even midnight. She isn’t home yet…

 

         The next morning, I’m so tired and disturbed that I consider calling off my tutors, but my Fall break starts tomorrow. I’ll have more than a week off.

         I soldier through because I’m looking forward to seeing Dexter.

         I skip my run, and don’t do any kickboxing, either. I’m too tired to think, let alone move.

         When Dex gets here, he tries to start our history lesson, but he can tell there’s something off about me.

         “You haven’t seemed like yourself these last couple of days… Are you okay, Jin?”

         I lift my eyes to him. I didn’t know, until he said that, that he’d noticed there was anything wrong yesterday. I’m not sure why, but I’m glad he noticed. I suppose that today I’m feeling very alone. I don’t feel like myself.

         What am I going to do about these nightmares? Why are they back?

         I tell myself again they aren’t real. They can’t hurt me...but that’s not true, is it? My own mind is turning against me. It knows what I’m afraid of better than anyone.

         Sometimes, I wish me and my brain could just get along. We’re supposed to be on the same team.

         “I’m fine.” I don’t think he believes it. “I just want to work on some art… Can we skip history today?”

         His dark eyes seem to stare right through me. I had no idea they could look that big or worried.

         “Okay,” he agreed sweetly. Dexter seems glad to indulge me.

         He sets up the easel. He opens the new, bigger sketchbook he brought; turns back the cover, and places it on the easel.

         “Do you mind if I start us out?”

         “Be my guest,” I contended, giving him a weak smile.

         He nods, and, after grabbing a stick of charcoal, turns to the blank page. His back hides the work, but I hear the charcoal scratching quickly against the thick paper.

         As Dexter draws, he explains his process. “I’m just…letting my arm do all the work while my head floats in limbo,” he said. “I know to trust myself… I like to start with the eyes. It helps me with the other proportions around them.”

         He works fast, and when he steps away, I see my face… Actually, it’s a prettier version of my face staring back at me. It really is a very flattering likeness. Strokes of charcoal add an almost wind-like motion to my hair and expression. The big eyes are wide and inquisitive, fixated right on the room. Maybe it’s my imagination, but I think I look a little afraid, and wonder if he’s drawn me as I am today.

         “It-it’s me…” I stuttered. I’m not sure if I sounded impressed, or slightly weirded out. I guess the latter.

         With a helpless shrug, Dex laughs nervously. He smiles innocently.

         “You’ve got a beautiful face for art,” he said.

         Did he just call me beautiful? Mom’s the only one who ever calls me beautiful. It’s very different when Dex says it… By the expression that comes into his eyes after a moment, I think he might not have meant to put it that way.

         He seems to fumble at picking a less intrusive phrase. “It’s a good face. I thought you should see it through my eyes… I thought it might cheer you up. Besides, you’re probably more familiar with your face than anyone else’s. That could be a good place for you to start, if you really want to learn how to draw and paint.”

         Is he still fumbling to make excuses? I can’t tell. Despite what he might think, I’m complimented.

         Somehow, I manage to find my voice.

         “…You think I’m pretty?”

         He pauses as if he’s suspicious. Then, he answers lightheartedly.

         “I believe I used the word ‘beautiful.’” Not wanting to pause there, he hands me the stick of charcoal. “Here… Now you try.”

         I lift the page with my portrait on it, careful not to smudge the material. For a second, I stare at the white surface in front of me, and then I remember what Dex just told me about letting his arm do the work while his mind is in limbo. I start in on the page.

         I don’t like how my memory blinks back to the fang-filled, terrible face of the dragon, but I can’t stop the images from coming. They arrive in snippets before my eyes – between the strokes I make with the charcoal.

 

         I am running from the men in black suits again. I am running from the dragon again.

 

         Before I know it, I’m attacking the paper with the burned stick of wood.

         I know the dragon is right on my heels.

         Without warning, it becomes apparent how I must look.

         It becomes apparent that I am done.

         I’m breathing hard, and Dex is staring at my drawing like he thinks it’s going to come alive and leap out of the page.

         It’s messy – lines twirling. Black eyes gaping, but the face that peers through at us is obvious. A grinning dragon…

 

         Thee Grinning Dragon…

 

         His voice is equal parts empathy and disbelief.

         “Jin…” Dexter barely gets my name out.

         I lose it. I can’t stop the tears from coming.

         I try to turn away, humiliated, but I feel his arms carefully encircle me. Dex draws me close, and I let him. My tears come harder. Then, I’m telling him everything.

         “I’m having nightmares… They feel so real, Dex – they feel so real, and I’m so scared… One of these nights, the dragon is going to get me. I’m so scared, Dex… I don’t know what to do.” I could barely get the words out.

         His arms tighten around me, and I’m sobbing uncontrollably against his chest. Even then, I can’t believe how gently he’s holding me.

         I don’t know how it happens, but we’re sitting in one of the chairs. I’m in his lap, weeping on his shoulder like a small child.

         Yet…I don’t feel like a child with his arms around me.

         I hear him shush me with such care; it just makes me want to cry even harder.

         “Shhh, ma chérie, don’t cry… Itoshii… Taisetsu na hito, please don’t cry… It will be all right.”

         I don’t know how, but his voice is softer than the limbs cradling me. I become aware that I’m shaking. In his embrace, I feel small, but safer than I’ve felt since the nightmares started again.

         He whispers, worried. “Have you told Rachael about this?”

         I shake my head no. Dexter pauses for a moment, and then he speaks again.

         “I think I know something that might help,” he told. The hope in his inflection makes me look up at him expectantly. “Will you come to my place this Sunday?”

         I hesitate, and then nod. I have to do something… I’m scared. I don’t want to tell Mom.

         That’s when my current situation catches up.

         He’s holding me.

         I’m on his lap.

         He smells like rain, and I am so humiliated, I could barf.

         I push away from him, regaining my feet and wiping my own tears away on the sleeve of my dark-blue sweatshirt.

         “I’m so sorry, Dex. That really… I’m so sorry—“ In on fluid motion, he’s out of the chair. He tries to interrupt – to reach for me again, but I’m not having it. “I’m sorry. I have to go. I need to get ready for work… Please don’t tell anyone about this.” We still have about forty minutes, but I’m too embarrassed to stay.

         I rush from the room, leaving him to get his stuff, and see himself’ out.

 

         I manage to pull myself together and head to work. I try not to think of what happened with Dexter. At this point, I’m starting to feel more humiliated than anything.

         I’m still beyond conflicted about Dominic. I’m not sure why, but the encounter with Dex has made it worse. Although, I have to admit that knowing Dominic will be at the diner raises my spirits some. I’m tired, but at least I can sleep in tomorrow before my shift. Tonight’s my last night training, as well.

         Another blessing.

         Between last night and this morning, I’d decided that I wasn’t going to believe what Jacquie was saying about Dominic until I asked for his side of the story. No one had ever done that for me back at school… Thinking of asking him makes my stomach bunch up into knots, but my mind is set. I’m not going to chicken out again.

 

         When I see Dominic, I forget about everything. The nightmare last night. Dexter holding me. My anxiety about Jacquie.

         Everything…

         But the evening doesn’t go the way I wished it would.

         Dominic’s not at all unfriendly, but he seems a bit standoffish, somehow.

         Had he picked up on my conflict last night? Sherry’s is even busier tonight than it has been. I wonder more than once if I’d just never noticed the crowded tables before I was working here. Whatever the answer, Sherry has me taking some orders and running food to tables between shadowing her. She even says I can keep the tips from the parties I serve. Even so, with the thing about Dominic bugging me, it’s a little overwhelming.

 

         I’m coming out of the kitchen to take another order. My heart about stops as Dexter walks through the door. He’s wearing that soft-looking leather jacket, but today the fitted, untucked v-neck tee underneath is gray. He’s looking around while the door closes behind him. Seeing me, he pauses, and then summons a modest smile as he approaches.

         I’m a tad panicky. What is he doing here? I don’t have time for this…but I can’t say I mind seeing him.

         His greeting is simple.

         “Hey…”

         “…Hey…” I can’t believe how tense I am.

         He moves closer to me so that he can speak without anyone overhearing us.

         “I’m sorry to show up like this without warning—“

         “You said you might come in sometime.” I reminded him, more for his sake than mine. He looks confident, but there’s hesitation in the way his hands are in his pockets.

         “True…” He gives me another smile. There’s seriousness behind it. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay…”

         This afternoon rushes back, and I’m embarrassed again. This time, the embarrassment comes with agitation, which I hide stealthily.

         “Really, Dex, I’m all right. I was shaken earlier. I…haven’t been sleeping well, as you know,” I put in that last part awkwardly. “I just got emotional…” In my irritation, I don’t have to try not to sound sentimental when I add. “Thanks for being there for me earlier. You must have been horrified. I probably seem like such a mess to you now.” I professed, and look up at him, apprehensive.

         He shifts on his feet. His voice is still low when he answers,

         “You don’t seem like a mess to me… You’re really okay?”

         I lower my lashes and nod. “Yeah, I am. Promise.”

         He doesn’t answer right away. I finally look back up at him, and that’s when he asks, almost whispering.

         “Are you still coming to my place Sunday? That’s another reason I showed up. I thought I’d give you my address if you are.”

         For a second, I consider declining. Then, the fangs of the Grinning Dragon flash through my mind.

         “I’ll still come… Are you going to tell me what you have in mind?”

         Dexter looks like he’s trying to contain his happiness. His eyes are much brighter than they were a minute ago. The muscles in his face are hard, as if he’s working not to smile too much.

         “You’ll see,” he teases. The smile slips further into the corners of his lips. This gives him those deep, attractive dimples.

         “Fine,” I snickered. “Let me give you my number, and you can text me your address. I need to get back to work.”

         “For sure,” he said, pulling out his phone.

         When he’s putting it away, it strikes me. I remember. “Did you speak another language to me earlier?” He’d sounded fluent, but I could not, for the life of me, remember any of the words except for ‘ma chérie,’ which I’m fairly certain’ is French for, ‘my love.’ Is that why he’s embarrassed?

         He pauses. The mirth returns to his eyes as he recalls that moment, too. Then, suddenly, he looks shy, like it’s his turn to be embarrassed. He reaches absently for the back of his neck.

         “Actually, I spoke two…”

         “French and…” I take a guess. “Was that Japanese?”

         “Yeah…” he says modestly. “Um…Mom’s Japanese. Dad’s French. They’re both voluble in each other’s language. They always spoke one or the other at home, knowing I’d pick it up faster that way. We moved from France to the US when I was little, and they didn’t want me to grow up only speaking English.”

         “That’s crazy.” I’m flabbergasted. I’ve never known someone who speaks more than one language. “What did you say earlier?”

         “Hah—!” It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him look rattled. Up until now, Dex has been nothing but self-assured. “—Doesn’t matter,” he shrugs. “You gotta get back to work.” He’s practically squirming.

         I like it…

         He’s right, of course, but now I’m even more curious than I would be if he’d just told me. I wish I’d memorized those foreign words.

         I see his dark gaze glance over my head. I’m too perturbed to think anything of it.

         “I’ll see you Sunday.” He said it as though he just wants to hear it out loud, then touches my shoulder, and leans forward to whisper in my ear.

         “Sweet dreams.”

         This time, he steps back, and I notice the look he casts behind me. There’s a challenge in it.

         Dex turns to go, and I turn to see Dominic standing by the wall hiding the kitchen. He’s watching Dexter’s back. Equal parts curiosity and fire shine in his eyes.

         I really have to get back to work, but I feel uneasy. It’s like I’ve done something wrong. I don’t know what to say to Dominic, so I don’t say anything before hurrying out to mine and Sherry’s section.

 

         Dominic doesn’t take his break at the same time I do tonight. I rationalize that it’s probably because he has too many tables to bus before he can rest. Still, I wonder if he’s avoiding me… I think I should have waited for him to go. That way, I could have been the one asking to join him. I’d been ready to confront him about Jacquie. Now I’m afraid the courage will evade me again the next time I have a chance.

          Did he mean it when he said I could tell him anything? I do and don’t want to find out. I’m afraid he’s mad at me, but I can’t think of any reason he would be. I’m afraid’ Izzy’s right about him. I’m just…afraid.

 

         Going out to my car, I catch him watching me again from outside of the front of the diner, which gives me some small increment of hope, and no small jolt of excitement.

         It’s short lived.

         I start thinking on the way home. I’m very tired. Mom must be right when she says everything seems worse at night.

 

         For a second evening in a row, I go to bed in a sodden mood.

         I sleep until almost eleven the next morning, and wake up feeling better.

         No nightmares. Sleep had been full of blissful nothingness.

         I am rested.

         On my phone is a message.

 

         “It’s Dexter. Here’s my address. Does two on Sunday afternoon work for you? I hope you’re good today.”

 

         Knowing I won’t see him today or next week, I’m glad to hear from him.

         I put his name and number in my phone, and then answer his text. I tell him I’m better today, and that two should work.

         When I check the study room, I find that he’s left my portrait leaned against the bookshelf.

         My Android dings. It’s Dex again.

         “Good. I’ll see you soon. Come hungry.”

         That gives me a small smile.

         I find the energy to go on a run around the neighborhood. I even have a short session with the punching bag before work.