Elena was tired, too, but she didn’t want to go to sleep. She finally admitted it to herself: She was a little afraid to go to sleep. Damon had been so real in her dream the other night. His body had felt firm and solid as she held him; his silky black hair had been soft against her cheek. His smooth voice had sounded sarcastic, seductive, and commanding by turns, just like the living Damon’s. When she had remembered, with a sickening horror, that he was gone, it had been as if he had died all over again. But she couldn’t stay awake forever. She was so tired. Elena switched off the light and closed her eyes.
“Phantom”
180
