My restless slumber was interrupted. I’d been having an _incredibly_ wet dream, so much so that I could feel the juicy arousal between my legs, goosebumps rippling across my body, tank-top clinging to my damp torso as the sweat made my skin shimmer in the scarce light of night, and was filled with _desperate need_. Clumsy fingers fumbled with my phone, _3:02 a.m._ I chuckled to myself. While I knew the 3 a.m. hour was considered the “witching hour,” thanks to my self proclaimed Wiccan roommate, I’d never considered myself superstitious enough to believe ghosts, demons, or witches were _actually_ going around in the dead of night.
A shiver trembled down my spine, regardless. It was the middle of June, and the window air-conditioner struggled to keep my small room cool. So, why was it so _damn_ cold in here? I pull the blanket tighter around me, but the chill remained. _Perhaps it’s so cold because I woke up as a hot mess?_ The thought occurs that I just need to get myself off and get back to sleep, but I couldn’t shake the strange feeling of being watched. I certainly didn’t feel alone in my darkened dwelling, but told myself I was just being silly.