A/N: I'm seriously blown away by the 12,000 reads on this story.  I really can't even begin to understand that.  Thank you all so, so much.  How can I ever say thanks enough?!  And thank you for taking the time to comment.  Here is a new, somewhat short chapter.  I hope you understand why I am including it. Whatever happens in this chapter is entirely the fault of RedWritingHood09 and Bluebell84.  So blame them. ;)  J/K They are the absolute best and have inspired some great things in my writing... But let's just say there's been a lot of Tom Angst today, Hah!  Thanks for reading, everyone!

Emie moved slowly through the dark.  It was cool outside, and her head felt a bit fuzzy, as if she couldn’t quite shake away a foggy feeling.  She was wearing her black bikini, and it still felt a bit damp and uncomfortable from the ocean water.  Her hair was also damp, and hung in salty knots near her face.  She walked across the bare wooden planks, making her way to the bungalow.  She hadn’t been there before, but she had an idea of where she was going.  The bright, silver white moonlight led the way.  She could see the warm, amber glow coming from inside the thatched roof hut.  It sat low over the flat, blue lagoon water.   Emie kept walking, feeling the rough wood under her bare feet.
       She wasn’t sure what time it was.  It was completely quiet outside, without even a breeze to rustle through nearby trees and plants.  She moved silently.  Walking up to the door of the room, she was surprised to find it slightly ajar.  She put her hand out, pushing slowly against the wooden door.  It swung open easily.
       When she stepped into the room, she was surprised at how messy it was inside.  The room was similar to hers, but just larger.  There was a couch, with a large flat screen television.  To the side there was a small kitchen and an eating area.  Out past the television, she could make out a big deck that overlooked the lagoon.  The bungalows were just as nice as her own room, except this bungalow was rather messy.
       There were bottles of half empty alcohol lying around.  Most of them looked like some kind of vodka, but she also recognized some whiskey bottles.  Expensive Jameson.  Those bottles were empty.  She paused, holding her breath.  She shook her head, feeling the fuzzy feeling coming back.  The room seemed to warp slightly, and she felt her body sway.  She kept walking, stepping over shoes and clothes. 
       Farther into the room, she saw empty food containers and trash all over the tables.  There were also clothes on the floor.  She recognized the trainers and the zip up hoodie he wore running.  Cigarettes and empty wrappers lay in an ashtray on the coffee table.  She stopped and stared for a moment when she saw a familiar cover underneath the overfilled ashtray.  Her book.  There was a coffee stain on the cover, and some gray ash from the overflowing glass dish.  She blinked, and then turned.  She felt nothing.  She felt something only mildly like panic start to course through her.
       Making her way toward the back of the suite, Emie felt her mouth go dry.  Now she felt it.  The panic, like a seething hot shot straight to her blood stream.  She felt it rush through her veins, filling her to the brim.  Her heart started beating fast, so fast that she could feel it pounding in her chest.  Thump. Thump thump. Thump. Thump thump.  She managed to make her way down a small hallway and found herself at another door.
       She stood for a minute outside the door.  It was slightly ajar as well.  She couldn’t make out anything on the other side, but she could hear soft noises.  The television, maybe? Emie felt her palms start to sweat, and she wrapped her arms around her middle.  In just her bikini, she felt totally exposed.   The room seemed to fade in and out again, and she steadied herself against the door jam.  Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door.
       At first she wasn’t sure what she was seeing.  A figure sitting on the bed? There was a light on in the room, but it was dim.  Her eyes adjusted quickly to the ashy, cold gray light.  She quickly realized that it wasn’t just one person on the bed.  It was two. 
       A woman was lying on her back, her dark hair fanned out around her head.  Her eyes were closed, and her mouth was open wide.  She was making high pitched, shrill moaning noises. Loud, grotesque, perverse.  It only took Emie a second to recognize her.  Vicky.  Her naked body was writhing on the bed, glistening with sweat.  Vicky’s big, fake breasts were thrust in the air as she moved from side to side.  Emie felt sick, like she was going to be violently ill.  Her heart slammed against her ribs.
       Between Vicky’s opened legs was another figure.  His back was to her, but Emie would have recognized him anywhere.  She could see the lean, slender muscles in his back.  Those familiar, broad shoulders.  He was knelt between her legs, his face hidden by her thighs.  Emie could make out his wavy blondish brown hair.  She could see his long, strong fingers on Vicky’s thighs, holding her knees open.  Her mouth went dry, flashing back to when he had touched her that way. It seemed forever ago at this point.  Another lifetime.
       Emie backed up quickly, bumping hard into the door frame as she stumbled backward.
       Both Vicky and Tom looked toward her, hearing her clumsy attempt at an escape.  Vicky turned her head, her eyelids heavy with lust.  She didn’t quite react, as if she had known Emie had been there the whole time.  Tom looked surprised at first, but then, his surprise slowly changed into something else.  Slow like honey, his shock turned into a wide, pleased grin.
       “Tom…” Emie said his name, but nothing came out of her mouth.  Her voice seemed stuck in her throat.  He smiled, leaning up and wiping his mouth against the back of his hand.  Emie felt bile in the back of her throat. Her chest hurt.  It was hard to breathe.  Her stomach dropped down to her feet. She could feel sweat running down the back of her neck.  She wanted to run, but she felt as if her feet were in buckets of concrete. 
       Tom watched her, not moving.
       “Darling, come on now.  You didn’t think I could wait forever, did you?  It’s not as if you and I were anything to write home about.” He chuckled softly at Emie and then looked at Vicky in a conspiratorial way.  He sat up, his broad chest slick with sweat.  Emie stumbled backward, out of the doorway and into the hallway to the room. 
       “Tom, let her be.  What a waste.” Vicky said, her voice high. It hurt Emie’s ears.  “Come here, baby.” She said, holding her hands out to Tom. Emie shook her head, feeling her eyes fill with tears.
       “What a waste.” Tom said with a chuckle, and then leaned toward Vicky, gathering her in his arms. Emie crashed backwards, bumping into furniture and stumbling over trash as she fought to find a way out of the room.  She felt herself tangle in something, but she kept moving.  The room swayed and seemed to quiver before her eyes.
       “No. No. NO!” She said, trying to scream, but still nothing came out of her mouth.  She heard Vicky laughing from the other room.  And then she heard Tom laughing.  Feeling her feet caught up under her, Emie wailed, feeling the strain in her throat even as no sound came out.  She fell backward, but she didn’t hit the ground.  She just kept falling, and falling and falling.
      

      
       Emie shot up straight in bed.  Her entire body was drenched with sweat.  The sheets on her bed were wrapped like snakes around her legs and torso.  She could hardly catch her breath.  She sat still for a moment, trying to clear her head and find her breath. It wasn’t real.  It was just a dream.  A nightmare. The most realistic, gut wrenching nightmare she’d ever had.  She collapsed back onto the bed, and covered her face with her hands.  Her heart was beating so hard and fast, it was the only thing she could hear.  The blood was rushing quickly through her ears, like ocean waves. 
“Oh my god.” She moaned softly, rolling onto her side and pressing her face into a pillow.  She wondered if she
was going to throw up.  She felt things spin slightly.
       Emie opened her eyes long enough to glance at the clock on her nightstand.  Nearly three a.m.  She pushed her sweaty hair from her face, and slowly started untangling herself from her sheets.  The images from the dream were vivid in her mind.  Bright, lurid, detailed.  She wanted to just roll over and cry, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep unless she cleared her head. 
       It took her a minute to get untangled from her sheets, but when she did, she slowly slipped out of bed.  Her legs felt weak, and her knees buckled slightly.  She ignored them, hobbling slightly toward the French doors.  She opened them, and stood in the chilly night breeze, letting it cool off her hot, trembling body. 
       Emie took a moment, and then stepped out onto the deck of her suite.  She was only wearing a tank top and undies, but she didn’t care.  The night air felt amazing on her overheated skin.  She walked slowly around the deck, then leaned up against the railing, looking out toward the lagoon.  She could see the bungalows, a few hundred yards away and out over the water. 
       She took a deep, cleansing breath, finally feeling her heart beat start to return to normal.  Her stomach was still in knots, and she had a feeling she wouldn’t feel completely normal for quite some time.  As she let the warm breeze run over her, and she looked out over the calm water, the images from her dream slowly started to dissolve.  The edges weren’t quite so crisp.  The details weren’t so clear.  She could still see the look on Tom’s face when he saw her.  Still see the way he gripped Vicky’s thighs.  Still see Vicky’s face in the throes of pleasure. 
       Emie left the deck and went to her bathroom, splashing cold water over her face.  It helped a bit, but not completely.  She walked quickly over to her shower and turned on the water.  She stripped out of her clothes and walked directly into the cold spray.  She gasped as she did, feeling the breath knocked out of her.  It was what she needed.  The fog lifted from her thoughts, and she managed to wipe as best she could, the images from her dream. 
       She was left with the feeling though.  And it wasn’t a very good one.  Her stomach was upset.  Her chest hurt.  She wanted nothing more than to take the walk.  Down over through the grounds.  Over the soft sandy beach.  Down the worn, wooden planks.  Over to his bungalow that she had never been to before, but somehow knew she could find the way.
       She wanted to knock on his door, or push it open.  She wanted to see what she would find.  In her new thoughts, he was in bed.  She would walk through his warm, clean bungalow.  She would see little things that would remind her of him.  A few books.  His laptop, ever the workaholic.  Sure, the bottle of expensive Jameson was still there but it was mostly full.  She would make her way to his bedroom. 
       He would be inside, sleeping.  He’d be covered with a light blanket, barely covering him from the hips down.  She knew he didn’t wear anything while he slept.  She’d be quiet but he would somehow know that she was there.  She’d sit down on the edge of his bed, watching him for a minute while he slept.  His smooth skin, that sweet amazing way his hair was both curly and straight at the same time.  The broad expanse of his chest, the strength of his arms.  The way the veins ran a long, languid line from his forearms down to his hands, branching out into roads of their own to his fingers.  Emie would touch his face, feeling the soft scruff of his few day old beard.  He would open his eyes then.  How could anyone’s eyes be that color?  Stormy blue.  Like clouds rolling in before a summer storm.  Green like moss.  Clear, thoughtful, always thinking. 
       Tom would smile at her, just a bit, the lines at the sides of his eyes crinkling.  A real, genuine smile.  He was so glad to see her.  Then he would pull her into the bed.  His body was warm against her cool skin.  His smell would envelope her.  Clean like the ocean, musky, spicy, heady.  He’d press his face into her neck, breathing her in like she breathed him in.
       “I’ve been waiting for you.” He would say, his voice low and intoxicating.  Emie would relax in his arms, and hold his head to her chest.  She’d kiss his hair, and say the things she had been keeping bottled up.  She would say the things she knew she had no right saying.  But she would tell him everything.  All her fears, all her hopes, everything that he had made her feel since the first night they had met.
       And then he would look at her and kiss her fingertips.  He’d kiss her lips and then…
       And then Emie would wake up, again.  She knew this.  She sagged against the shower wall, shivering with cold.  She stayed in the icy cold spray of water for a few more minutes, just waiting.  Waiting to feel numb.  Waiting to feel nothing.  She could barely feel her toes when she finally turned off the shower.
       She stepped out, wrapping a towel around her body.  She stumbled slowly back to her bedroom and collapsed into bed.  It was all a dream. Good or bad, it was always a dream.