The Dorm Diaries

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I laid my head on my arms, still staring at them as they splashed around in the water. The warm sun blanketed my back, but my mind was somewhere else entirely. About a week ago, I started getting these dreams. Dreams where Johnny would show up… and so would Dallas.

At first, they seemed harmless enough, just us hanging out, doing normal stuff. But then—God help me—they started taking a turn. Johnny and Dallas would… well… do things. Right in front of me. My face burned just thinking about it. The first time I had one of those dreams, I woke up so red I couldn’t even look either of them in the eyes for hours. Johnny noticed right away, of course. He kept asking if something was wrong, his brows furrowed in concern, but I just kept shaking my head, mumbling excuses until he finally let it drop.

But the dreams didn’t stop. They kept coming, every night, vivid and unrelenting. And glory, does it feel wrong. I mean, I’ve tried everything to get rid of them—weed, melatonin, meditating, wine and a movie, tiring myself out before bed—nothing works. Nothing. My last idea was to just not sleep at all, to push through the night and maybe nap in-between classes. But who am I kidding? I’m already so tired I’d probably pass out mid-lecture if I tried that.

What to do, what to do… I let out a soft groan, burying my face in my arms. I can’t tell them, that’s for sure. Absolutely not. Can you imagine? If I was dating someone and my friend told me he was having dreams about us… under the sheets?

I’d never live it down.

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The sound of laughter brought me back to reality. I glanced up, watching as Johnny dunked Dallas underwater, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. Dallas resurfaced with a sputtering laugh, wiping water from his eyes before splashing Johnny right back. They were a mess—soaked, loud, and totally in their own little world.

I sighed, shifting slightly on the chair. It wasn’t that I wasn’t happy for them—I was. Really. They deserved to be happy. But lately, it felt like I was carrying around this weight, like every interaction with them added another brick to the load. I couldn’t tell if it was guilt or jealousy or something else entirely, but whatever it was, it was exhausting.

“Pone!” Johnny’s voice cut through my thoughts, and I looked up to see him waving me over, water dripping from his hair and running down his tan skin. “C’mon, you’ve been sittin’ there all day! Get in already!”

“I’m good,” I called back, waving him off. “You guys have fun.”

Dallas smirked, wading over to lean on the edge of the pool. “What’s the matter, country boy? Afraid to get your hair wet?”

I rolled my eyes, sitting up slightly. “No, I just don’t feel like swimming right now.”

“Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug, pushing off the edge and splashing back toward Johnny.

Johnny, however, wasn’t so easily deterred. He climbed out of the pool, water pooling around his feet as he made his way over to me. I couldn’t help but notice the way his wet hair clung to his forehead, or the way dropletsof water ran down his tan skin. He stopped in front of me, crossing his arms with a small, playful smile.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

I nodded, avoiding his gaze. “Yeah. Just tired, that’s all.”

Johnny frowned, his brows knitting together in that way they always did when he was worried. Before I could stop him, he crouched down beside the chair, resting his hand on my hand. The warmth of his palm against my skin made my breath hitch.

“Hey,” he said softly. “If somethin’s botherin’ you, you can tell me. You know that, right?”

“I know,” I said quickly, my voice a little too high-pitched. “I’m fine, really.”

Johnny didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push it. Instead, he gave my arm a gentle squeeze before standing up and heading back to the pool. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, my chest tightening with a mix of relief and something else I couldn’t quite name.

---

That night, the dreams came again, vivid and inescapable. I woke up in a cold sweat, my heart racing as the images played on repeat in my mind. I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes, willing them away, but they wouldn’t fade.

This was getting out of hand. I needed to do something—anything—to make it stop. But as I stared up at the ceiling, the quiet of the night pressing down around me, I couldn’t shake the thought that maybe, just maybe, I didn’t want them to stop.