He drew in deep gulps of breath trying to quiet the fear that had held him hostage in the dream. Looking around, he realized he was in his bedroom. Well, thank God for that, he thought. He closed his eyes and tried to swallow but found his throat too dry to accommodate him. Opening his eyes, he glanced around the room and realized nothing was disturbed. In the last three weeks, he didn’t always know where he would wake up. And when he did wake up at home, there were times his room looked like a cyclone had hit it. Worse, he had no idea how it happened. A fresh wave of nausea hit Jason. He was still dizzy, still not sure what had awakened him. The dream had scared the living hell out of him, but he couldn’t remember what it was about. He shoved a hand through his hair and found it wet. Cold and wet. He closed his eyes again. Shit, he’d been out running again. He didn’t want to think about what that meant. He didn’t want to face the possibilities of what he did when he was out in his sleeplike state.
