Meant to Be (The Saving Angels 1)

“This is pretty,” Sam commented, as we settled into the chairs in the sitting area.

“Thanks. My mom and I wanted to make it a comfortable, soothing space.”

We had worked hard to create just the right look. We painted the walls a nice warm taupe that glowed when the sunlight hit them and placed bookshelves from floor to ceiling around the room for the many books we had both read over the years. In between the bookshelves we placed framed posters of some of our favorite books. The frames were made from the same tasteful wood as the bookshelves. We searched high and low for the two comfortable lazy boys that sat in the middle of the room. Both of us could read for hours, so we wanted to be comfortable. The last touch was a sturdy table to sit between the two chairs. We liked to snack while we read, so having a durable table to hold our drinks was a must.

“I’ll put some music on,” I said. “Do you have any preference?”

“No. Anything is fine.”

We listened to the music and talked until we heard the doorbell ring. After paying the delivery guy, I grabbed a couple sodas, and some paper plates and napkins.

We ate in silence, enjoying the cheesy pizza with its hearty sauce. Finally after dinner, Sam looked at me with a serious look on her face. “I’ve been putting off mentioning this, but I think we should make a list of things we have in common,” she told me. “That way, we’ll have a better idea of what we’re dealing with.”

I had to agree with her. I had been trying to ignore it all day, but it had become glaringly obvious that Sam and I shared some kind of link. I grabbed a notebook and started taking notes on our commonalities. Sam filled in the ones I had forgotten, making a point to mention our common defective “emotions,” as she liked to put it, of course I still didn’t believe that her emotional “madness” was the same as mine. Finally, I set the pencil down. “I think that’s it.”

“You forgot the biggest one,” Sam said quietly.

“What’s that?” I asked, looking up in surprise, I thought we had them all.

“You forgot to write down the dreams,” Sam said in the same quiet voice.

“What dreams?” I asked, suddenly starting to feel panicked.

“The dreams we have about the guys?”

“How do you know about that?” I asked, standing up abruptly, suddenly very angry. The notebook slid off my lap and landed on the floor at my feet. I gave it no notice, as I felt the emotional wave approaching.

“I think you should leave,” I told Sam, trying to fight down the nausea. I didn’t know what kind of game Sam was playing, but I wanted no part of it. The anger began to engulf me; I knew I was on the verge of getting sick.

I rushed into my bathroom and threw-up immediately. It had been a long time since my emotions had made me sick enough to throw up. The retching finally ended as the waves receded. I rested my forehead weakly against the cool porcelain on the side of the tub.

I felt a cool cloth being placed on the nap of my sweaty neck. I wasn’t surprised that Sam had stuck around. Though I tried to convince myself that she was playing some kind of game, I knew we had far too much in common to be just a coincidence. I didn’t know what was going on, but I did know, it wasn’t Sam’s fault.

Sam handed me a glass of water. I looked up to see her studying me.

“I’ll teach you how to fight the sickness back,” she promised.

I just nodded my head weakly, not surprised that Sam somehow knew how to fight it off; she seemed so much stronger than me. She helped pull me into a standing position. My legs felt like cooked spaghetti, but I thought I could make it to one of the chairs. Sam took my arm and helped me settle into the chair.

“I know about your dreams because I have the same ones,” Sam said, with tears in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to make you sick.”

“How did you know that I had the dreams?”

“I didn’t know when I first met you. I suspected it after I saw your reaction in class today, but I knew for sure after I read the note.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, more confused than ever. “What happened in class for you to suspect it, and why did the note convince you?”

“Because, I’ve been in your shoes before, I have the same dreams as you, and I felt the same way when I met the boy that had shared my dreams my entire life. Through all my crummy foster homes, he was always there for me, and when I met him it was like I had been hit by lighting.”

“You’ve met your dream guy?” I asked surprised, not because she had dreams like mine (which was crazy), but because she made it seem like our dream guys were flesh and blood.

“You’ve met yours too. Surely you knew as soon as you saw him today, that he was the one?”

I shook my head in denial. “I’ve never seen his face though, how can you be so sure it’s Mark?”

“Have you ever reacted like that with anyone else?” she asked, incredulous.

“Well no, but how do I know it’s not just a normal reaction? He is attractive. You saw how all the other girls were ogling him,” I said, trying to take just an ounce of crazy out of this situation.