I flopped over in bed. Again. My chest hurt and I felt sick to my stomach. This was all coming from Silas. Growling, I flopped over on my other side, curling up. His waves of drunken emotions were messing with my own. Rolling onto my back, I let out a yell.
“Damn it, Silas! Just let me fucking sleep! If I could get my hands on you right now…”
The world tilted, and I thought I was finally getting sick from him. Instead, I found myself standing outside Saul’s bar. Blinking, I looked around before looking down at my hands. Everything seemed like a dream. I knew what I was looking at, but everything around me seemed slightly out of focus. Like when you were looking in the background of a photo.
My hands looked see-through. Like I was a ghost. There, but not really. The door shot open, and I jumped back. It was weird not stumbling or needing my cane. Was I dreaming? It felt too lucid to be dreaming. Silas stumbled out of the door and
