"I…" he doesn't know how to start. "I just don't like how you doubt that this is the real me."
I looked away. The silence between us held more weight than his words did. "It's not that I don't know who's real," I said. "It's just… sometimes, after my hallucinations, I think the real is unreal and it feels like I'm dreaming and that dream is pretending to be reality."
He looked at me straight in my eyes. "You're not dreaming now," he said. I could see through his eyes, he's hurt. He's done combing my hair. He's still looking at me.
"How do you know?" I snapped, then I immediately regretted how sharp those words came out.
