Being myself is hard when I don’t know who myself is. It hasn’t even been one day with Pollux’s words from last night’s dream in my head, yet I’m more exhausted than usual on a day off. He’s stripped me of the comfort I found in the things I use to cope, because—suddenly—those things are wrong. It makes me angry. As angry as the furious, foot-long, fat bee I am cradling as I march up his sidewalk to his stupid haunted house.
![Falling in Love with the Man of My Nightmares (That's [Para]Normal #4)](https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1713545531l/210492231.jpg)
