Read Before I Wake for Free Online Page B

It was over now. I was safe. It was just a dream, and dreams couldn’t hurt me.
    Even though I knew that, it was a long time, and six “dee-dee-dee” songs before I fell asleep again.

    When I first moved to New York I was certain I would be unaffected by the size of the city and the people in it. After all, I was from Toronto. I knew all about city living.
    I was full of crap.
    Part of New York’s charm is that it is unlike any other city on the planet—not that I’m that well traveled, but I think it’s a safe assumption. There are times when it is dirty and smells bad, and the people seem to be in too much of a hurry to care about anything but themselves. Then there are also times when the sun beats down between the buildings lining Fifth Avenue and makes the whole world seem bright and beautiful. There are mornings, when the streets have been sprayed down, that all you can smell is wet concrete and the freshness of a city waking up. There’s a haze on the horizon, but the breeze is sweet—and there’s no smell of taxi or subway urine.

    A mariachi band got onto the subway on my way to work and played in the aisle as they passed a sombrero around. Only the tourists openly watched. I’ve been able to perfect an expression of boredom, but I still get a kick out of it. Although the break dancers that sometimes ride the subway scare me. I keep thinking one of them is going to kick me in the head or something.
    Somebody’s going to lose an eye, I just know it.
    New York, especially Manhattan, is so image-conscious, and yet I can pretty much guarantee you that the next Mid-East hot-dog vendor I meet will call me “pretty lady” or some variation thereof because he thinks my voluptuous form is the ideal. And while Torontonians can hold their own in terms of the brusqueness that comes with urban living, nowhere but in Manhattan have I ever been told that I need “more attitude.”
    I thought I was a city girl. I was wrong. I was becoming one now. I totally belonged as I strode purposefully down the sidewalk in the black suit I got for a steal at Daffy’s and the huge diva sunglasses I bought from a street vender, along with my faux Kate Spade. The shoes were designer discount as well. I needed the window dressing to cover the fact that I felt like crap. Obviously, I hadn’t slept well last night.
    The clinic was on East Eighth Street, not far from NYU, and I spared a glance at the milling students as I climbed up the steps by the handicap ramp. The clinic was on the second floor. Normally, I took the stairs for a little exercise. Today, I took the elevator.
    Noah was waiting for me in the reception area when I stepped off. For a moment I was ashamed to be seen with my Venti extra-whip latte, then I noticed the familiar white-and-green paper cup in his hand. I took a deep breath and smelled vanilla and sugar. I wondered how much whipped cream he had on his.
    He stood when he saw me. I forgot about my sweet, decadent coffee when I saw the dark circles under his eyes. I wasn’t the only one who hadn’t slept well last night. Of course, he managed to make tired look hot, with his mussed hair and patchy stubble.
    “Hey, Doc.” He frowned—quickly, then it was gone. “You look like shit.”
    I might have been offended if I hadn’t thought the same thing myself. And I was cranky enough to be honest right back. “So do you.”
    Bonnie watched this exchange with some interest. “Did the two of you get looking this way together?”
    I shot her a look that definitely had a “shut up” vibe about it.
    Noah glanced at her with what might have been genuine bewilderment, but I doubted it. He seemed amused by the question.
    “No.”
    Did he have to say it like it should be so totally impossible for us to have been together?
    “What’s up, Noah?” It came out a little abrupt, but standing around feeling like a joke was not my idea of fun.
    Dark eyes turned to me, but his face remained impassive. “I need to talk to