So Angela might have come to the car, to the wreckage of our lives, and made sure I was an orphan. Had she done it because of me? Or in spite of me, I...wondered.I didn't understand it yet, not completely. Angela had dreamt of me, she'd said, and I tried to remember if she'd told me when her dreams had started. Had they led her to kill my parents, to make me vulnerable that way? Or had I been a surprise when she'd found me? Maybe she'd only dreamt of me after the accident, after she'd killed my. I had even put my headphones on, listening to soft music, which very often in the past, had helped lull me to sleep. I slipped one hand down the waistband of the white cotton panties I had on, and began touching myself. The other, fingering and toying with my breasts as I very often did, those uncovered by the sheet as I lay there, the images now of course forming inside my head. Only different this time. No longer me sitting on mom's lap ... but sitting next to her, kissing and sucking her. More

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