A Theory of Dreaming (A Study in Drowning, #2)

by Ava Reid

If there is one great virtue of girlhood, it is the insulation of dreams. We are protected, as children, by our belief in the unreal.

The bite of the IV needle in her arm. The hoarseness in her throat. The stiffness of her disused muscles. The faint throbbing behind her temples. Effy breathed in, then out again, the air itself prickling. The antiseptic smell of the hospital made her feel vaguely ill.

“Why did you do it?” she asked at last. “Why have you done—any of this? Why did you stay?” He let out a breath, almost amused. “Because I want to. Because there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

If you can learn to love that which despises you, that which terrifies you, you can dance on the shore and play in the waves again, like you did when you were young. Before the ocean is friend or foe, it simply is. And so are you.