My face drains of color, looking at her stomach. No, no. It's just a dream, Nic. Snap out of it. I look back at her and bring a hand to the side of her face, "S'okay, Jacks. We'll be okay."
I'm never what I like I'm double sided And I just can't hide I kind of like it When I make you cry 'Cause I'm twisted up, twisted up Inside
I hear a slight scream and look up at the ceiling, listening for anything more.
``` Nic
I hush her and roll her on her back, a hand still on the side of her face, "Shh, baby. Wake up. Please. You're scaring the hell out of me. S'okay here."
I'm never what I like I'm double sided And I just can't hide I kind of like it When I make you cry 'Cause I'm twisted up, twisted up Inside
What really knocks me out is a book that, when you're all done reading it, you wish the author that wrote it was a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it. That doesn't happen much, though. — J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye