Dreaming in Color by Cameron Dane (autobiographies to read .TXT) 📕

“I think you are, even though you surely don't mean to. I think you're hurting it.”

He snorted. “That's ridiculous.”

“Hear me out.” Colin crawled up on the bed and grabbed Marek's legs, imploring him with his touch. “I think your pain and grief over Payton's death, and your guilt over not being there with him when he was attacked, is eating at you so much the house is somehow absorbing it and making it its own.”

Marek shuffled across the bed out of Colin's reach, needing space. “That's crazy talk.” He felt like insanity touched him just hearing Colin's outrageous theory.

“Maybe it is.” Colin followed with his stare, and everything about him was open and earnest in every way. “But that doesn't mean it's not true. In my dreams, when I put my hands on the red door, it was always warm with life. And when I touched it, that was when you would appear. When I walked through this place in reality, I could feel its neglect like it was alive and sad. That first day, I touched the door frame to your bedroom, and I saw you masturbating on this bed, as clear as day. I've felt vibrations that I cannot explain. I think this house somehow has a pulse, a soul; I don't know how. Stewart built it with such love for Beatrice, and she never wanted to leave it. Maybe she could feel him here, just as much as not wanting to believe he was dead. Maybe they loved each other so much it somehow leaked into the floors and walls. Everything is energy in some form or another. Why can't those energies get their wires crossed sometimes and meld together? Why can't it be true?”

“Because…because it doesn't make any sense, that's why.” Marek jumped out of bed and picked up the pacing Colin had left off. He threw Colin a pointed look as he did it. “Houses are not alive, Colin. They don't feel pain. See?” He strode across the floor and rubbed his hands all over the dark frame circling the window. “I touch it all the time and don't feel anything. Look? My feet are bare, and I'm touching the hardwood. I feel no vibrations. Nothing. Besides”—he threw his hands up to his sides—“I don't even have a red door on the house for you to see in your dreams.”

Colin leaped off the bed and raced to Marek, taking both of his hands in a firm hold. “But the house did have one before you moved in; even you conceded that. Which is more proof that it's more than just you pulling me to this place. The house is somehow lending elements of itself to the dreams.”

The red door is entirely something from my past. You just don't remember. “That's not tr—” Marek zipped his lip. Guilt resurged, plaguing him right where he stood.

I can't think about one of the nicest moments in my life without reliving one of the worst that came right after. I don't ever want you to know.

Taking a seat on the windowsill, Marek lifted one of Colin's hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to the center of his palm. Christ. I need this human connection. Even just for a little while. He tried to smile, but it didn't feel like he entirely succeeded. “I know you think you've stumbled onto something about this house; I just don't think the conclusions you're drawing are correct.” There. He gave the truth. Without the details. “I'm sorry.”

Colin looked like Marek slapped him. He pulled away and backed up until he sank down on the edge of the bed. Some of the passion left his eyes, but once again, steel held his back up stiff. “There isn't any other way it makes sense that I could have dreamed about this place, to the detail, without ever having seen it.” He spoke each word clearly and with deliberation. “One of the most puzzling things in my dreams was the pull I felt to this house, just as much as to the man living inside it. It doesn't make sense that even though I didn't know who you were, I already knew your pain and loss before I ever saw your face and heard your story. If you say it's not possible for this house to absorb your energy and somehow send signals of both you and it to me, then you're saying it's not possible for me to have had those dreams at all. And I know I have. You know I have.”

Pain lanced through Marek, and he rushed to Colin. He cupped his hand around Colin's neck and tilted his face up. “I do believe you about your dreams.” Sliding his knee on the bed, Marek leaned down and pressed his lips against Colin's forehead, lingering, absorbing his life force. “Please believe that.”

Colin grasped Marek's wrist, looking up as he eased back a bit. “Then how can you discount the rest so easily? You saw what happened to me last night.”

“Yes, I did.” Marek's hand flexed around Colin's nape and he scraped a hard, fast kiss against those upturned lips, needing to feel Colin in another way. “Your confusion scared the crap out of me.”

Shaking his head, Colin said, “I wasn't confused.” His gaze, sharp and clear, pinpointed right on Marek. “As soon as I got up from that coffee table, my feet felt tied to the floor. The heaviness crept up into the rest of my body. I reached out to grab the wall because I thought I was going to fall, and it was like this big ball of coiling, intense emotions slammed right into me and exploded inside me. It was full of anger, rage, grief, love, fear, guilt… It overwhelmed me and knocked me right to the floor.”

Marek wiped his hand over his mouth, completely caught up in Colin's tale. “Shit.” He dropped to sit next