Page 7 of You Met Me There

I take another large gulp of matcha—something I probably shouldn’t be indulging in right after having a massive panic attack—and back out of the parking space, wiping tears from my eyes, finally leaving the darkening gas station behind me.

“Hi, I need a room for tonight. Any size bed is fine.” I hand my card to the man at the counter, resting my large rolling suitcase by my feet.

“Yes, ma’am.” The man takes my card for payment. “We have a queen bed on this floor or a king bed on the second floor.” He looks up at me with a kind smile. “Do you have a preference?”

I roll my lips in as I think. Luke would pick the second floor king bed because it would put the most distance between us and the noise of the ocean-themed bar. I look back at the bar, and the sound of ice clinking in glasses reaches my ears. Even in my imagination, I feel the stress slipping from my fingers with the taste of something strong.

Maybe I won’t drink tonight; I’ll most likely go straight to bed. But I’d be lying if I said the temptation didn’t burn through me like salt on an open wound. A drink would be nice. If Luke were here, he’d say no to the room by the bar in a heartbeat, preferring the privacy and quiet of another floor.

I purse my lips. “I’ll take the queen on this floor,” I reply, tired of hearing Luke’s negative responses in my head. I can make this decision on my own. The man nods, handing me a paper and a pen. I sign it, and he produces my room key and a small slip of paper. The password for the hotel Wi-Fi is scribbled on it, as well as the number 105. “Thanks.” I smile, but it feels pointless.

“My pleasure. Don’t hesitate to call the front desk if you find you need anything else to make your stay more comfortable.”

With a nod, I walk through the beach-style lobby, past the well-stocked bar—already teeming with men and women dressed in stylish beachwear and flip-flops—and down the hall to room 105. Inside, the room is cold from the running AC, and the lights are dimmed.

I flip on all the lights as I roll what is apparently now my whole life into the bright room. The bed is covered in a light blue duvet with sunshine-yellow throw pillows. It’s disgustingly … happy, and I waste no time in tossing the pillows on the opposite side of the small couch where I can’t see them. I’d usually love a reason to add a pop of color to anything, but today I want to wallow in the shadowy parts.

With a new wave of anxiety crashing over me, I face the large mirror hanging on the back of the sliding closet door. My pink T-shirt no longer sits neatly tucked into my athletic skirt, and I feel sweaty and gross from sitting in the car for hours where my legs stuck to the leather seats. A shower would definitely help to wash away the grime—and maybe the emotional sandstorm I’m in, if I’m lucky. But I’m reaching here.

I bite my lip as I try to define the warring feelings inside of me for the one hundredth time.

I love Luke, but he won’t ever give me a baby. And that makes me sad, hopeless in a way I haven’t felt since meeting him.

I don’t want to live without him, but I will if it means I can fill the hole in my heart. Since he won’t agree to being a father, then I can’t make him be one. But I will become a mother if it’s the last thing I do. I don’t know how yet, but I’ll figure it out. This thought fills me with determination and rage, a strong cocktail for a woman out on her own.

I don’t know how my family will react to my return, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take. Nerves settle in, taking up residence like an unwelcome roommate.

A heavy, tired breath passes through my lips. I’m a terrible gambler—just look at how everything has turned out with Luke, the man whose stance on children I thought I could change.

After a long shower, I feel much better. I no longer have frizzy hair from the Florida humidity or mascara stains down my cheeks. Now that I think of it, I looked like an absolute disaster when I came in here. No wonder the man at the front desk seemed extra cautious. He probably thought I’d fall apart at any moment.

It’s not late yet, but I climb under the covers and go right to bed, the stress of the day pulling me into a fitful darkness.

Chapter 5

Natalie

I’m falling through the dark, my mouth wide open, eliciting a silent scream. I can’t see where I am in the faded blackness and I’m unable to grab hold of anything to stop my fall. Unfortunately, falling is something I’m accustomed to. Darkness visits me when I’m spiraling, and the view I see now is one I’ve gotten used to.

There’s no way to fully see where I am or where I’m going, but somehow I know in my sleepy mind that I am shooting toward the future while also aiming for the past. Fear grips me. I can’t stop the dream, can’t awaken myself, and even in my nightmare I wish I had Luke to hold me.

He always held me when I dreamed.

The sound of people talking nearby leads me to search for the source, but every wall I turn around is an empty corner in an old broken house. The walls lean in like they’ll collapse any minute, and as the voices continue, I find my feet and start to run, desperate to find who they belong to.

Suddenly, the scene changes. I’m outside on a mountain. The forest spreads up into the black sky, dark clouds pouring rain into my eyes and open mouth. I lie on the wet, dead leaves, unable to move but desperately trying. The black fog slithers across the ground and creeps over my body, slowly pulling me into the dark until I’m completely covered and I can no longer see beyond the blackness.

Then the crying starts. I used to think it was mine, but after the same dream has haunted me for years, I’ve come to find I’ll never learn the source of the baby’s cries. Because no matter how hard I fight to release myself and chase it, I’m stuck.

After falling some more through a hole for hours after the fog pressed me deep into the ground, I wake drenched in sweat. I pull at my damp T-shirt, swinging my legs to the floor and sitting on the side of the bed, breathing heavily.

I despise this dream.

Like waiting for rain clouds to drop bountiful rain in a desert, attempting to sleep again would be pointless. So I dig through my suitcase in hopes of passing a little time at the bar until I’m sleepy enough to try going back to bed. It’s close to midnight; hopefully I’ll be tired enough soon. I still have to drive in the morning.

I dress in khaki shorts and a flowing pink button-down shirt, leaving the collar and top two buttons undone. My fingers work quickly to braid my damp hair over one shoulder, then I slip on a pair of gold sandals with a little heel. I turn toward the floor-length mirror where I find my ensemble to be slightly wrinkled but put together enough to be cute.

I like to wear colorful clothes; it’s my way of living contrary to how I feel on the inside. My way of counteracting the darkness.