Darkness encircles me as my paralyzed body hopelessly fights to break loose from the tendril-like arms that surround me. My words choke in my throat as I try to call out for help. There is no air in my lungs as the tendrils squeeze tighter and tighter. All I see is darkness, but I feel like I'm moving. 

Suddenly my mom appears next to me. A white aura surrounds her as she grabs onto my arm. I try to call out in surprise, but the monster has too tight of a grip on me.  Her eyes narrow as she stares at me with panic and her breathing is rapid.  "You have no power here!" she screams at the tendrils. 

She holds up the palm of her hand and a white light explodes from it. The tendrils instantly unhook, and my lungs fill with air again as my mom grabs my hands and yanks me away from where the monster had me. 

"I should have prepared you better," she says. 

"Prepared me for what?!" I scream.

My eyes shoot open, and sweat is all around my pillow. "Mom?" I whisper out loud and breathlessly. "Prepare me for what?"

That dream was so real. I felt like everything was happening in real-time. The hatred I felt from that monster made me feel more terror than I ever have. It's been in my dreams before, but this time, this time felt different.  What does it want from me? 

I sit up in bed and see all my sheets are balled up at the edge of the bed. The alarm on my nightstand says three in the morning, and a sigh escapes me. We had just gotten back from the bar two hours ago. 

 My dormmate, Erica,  sleeps peacefully as I quietly step into my slippers and walk across the room we share to the bathroom. Our dorm room is small, but there's one place that makes it worth it for me, and that's the fire escape that we can get to through our bathroom window. 

I grab my robe from the hook and wrap it snuggly around myself before walking to the window above the bathtub and sliding the wooden frame upward. Cold air whips my face as I climb out the window and sit on the tiny seat Erica sits on when she smokes her cigarettes. I close my eyes and allow the cold winter wind to dry the sweat clinging to my hair. 

"Even in the grave, you're still protecting me, huh?" I whisper out into the night. 

My mother was a peculiar woman. She had her weird obsessions and hobbies, but the weirdest one was probably her obsession with King Henry VIII and his wives. She loved the history of the Tudors so much she decided to name her only daughter after her favorite, Queen Anne Boleyn. When I was younger, my mom would always read stories from different historians and watch documentaries with me before I went to sleep at night. 

"Boleyn, you're special," she would say. "Just like that Queen on the television, you're going to change something." 

She would never tell me what I would change, or what it was that made me so special, but I was determined to make it true for her. When she got cancer when I was sixteen, I was even more determined to become the woman she wanted me to be. Whoever that may be. 

"Bow?" called a raspy sleepy voice from inside the bathroom. 

Erica's bright purple locks appear in the window as she shimmies her way through the window. Her face is full of concern as she sees me sitting there with my sweat-stained hair. "Would you like to explain to me why your bed looks like someone tried to destroy it?" 

"I had a bad dream," I say as I get up and lean onto the railing. My arms support my body as I hear the familiar sound of a lighter and the smell of Erica's menthols fills the air. "Some monster, my mom came and saved me. The usual." 

"That monster still giving you crap?" asks Erica with a concerned voice. "Have you talked about it with your therapist?" 

I roll my eyes and place my head in my hand. Of course, she would ask that.  "Erica, now isn't the time," I whisper rubbing my eyes. "I get it. You think I need to talk to someone still-"

"And I love you enough to remind you that it is okay to not be okay." 

She grabs my hand and squeezes gently. "Listen, we've been together since we were eight. I won't bring it up again if you don't want to discuss it, but I just want you to know that you're supported and-" 

"I get it," I say squeezing her hand back. "I do." 

We stand there hand in hand, not talking, the only sound coming from Erica's cigarette as she inhales and exhales the smoke. 

"I felt like I was moving this time," I tell her. "I know that the dreams have been intense before, but this time it felt like I was moving. I was being held so tight I couldn't move, and when my mom saved me she told me that she should have prepared me better. Prepared me for what?" 

"Maybe she meant life? Dreams are symbolic you know," Erica says putting her cigarette out. "Maybe the tendrils are life and how it gets harder as you get older, and her saying she could have prepared you more was her wish since she passed when you were so young." 

"Maybe," I say with a frown. 

I don't think whatever happened was a dream. Not with how realistic everything felt. I think my mom is protecting me from something. Something evil. I lean my head against Erica's shoulder and she wraps an arm around mine. "Why don't we go back to bed?" she asks me. "It's freezing out here. I'll even help you remake your bed." 

I smile as she ushers me back toward the window. "Thanks," I say as I climb back into the bathroom. I walk into the room, and five minutes later, Erica and I have remade my bed. I climb under the sheets and curl up into a ball. The light of the moon leaks in from my window, and my heart jumps as I think I see a small black object scurry across the floor. 

I flip my phone flashlight out, but there's nothing in the room.

Just your brain still in the dream, Boleyn. 

I lean back in bed and close my eyes as sleep slowly starts to take over me.