“The worst nightmares are always…” I didn’t want to know, but I would never stop her from sharing what bothered her. “When it’s Jabba on top of me. He’s like a phantom of my past that I can’t shake off.” I peered down at her crown of hair. “He’s dead.” “I know. But my brain doesn’t care. In here”—she tapped her temple—“he’s still very much alive.” She peered up. “You aren’t the reason for my nightmares, just so you know, okay? It’s always Jabba taking center stage.”
