Page 39 of Kiss Slay Replay

A dream. It was just a dream.

The most insanely detailed, epically horrific stress-induced nightmare.

Only…I’ve never had a dream like that before. I had no idea it was even possible. The experience of it, of the dream, of what had to have been a dream because I’m here and awake and alive…It’s still with me. Still so real.

Try to just let it go.

I ball my hands into fists and pound my forehead.

“It wasn’t real,” I tell myself, my voice breaking. “Just a dream. Just a nightmare. Move on. Move on. Move on.”

Good morning to you, too, Evan replies to my “I love you” text.

Do you love me back?

So desperate, he says. Then, Yes.

He’s alive. I didn’t leave him for dead. Run away.

I take a cold shower. Make some coffee. Finish packing my suitcase. It all feels so familiar. Yeah, it’s my morning routine. And yeah, I have a packing list, and I’ve put excessive thought into what I will wear this weekend. But still. Did I not just carefully fold these clothes into these packing cubes? Did the zipper not get stuck in this exact place, requiring patience and elbow grease?

And did I not already answer these emails? Did I not already finish this deck that’s due next week for a new client—an actor’s tequila brand, an obvious cash grab that doubles as a subtle indicator we’re living in a dystopia. The rich slap their names on whatever to get richer, and the rest of us wonder if we can please have a sip, a taste of what it must be like to exist in luxury.

I am so. Fucking. Grumpy. Ugh!

The dream lingers, replaying in my head, curdling every positive thought, casting ugly shadows. I feel hungover even though I didn’t drink last night. I’m beyond tired even though I slept.

I close my laptop and stare at the wall for a good fifteen minutes before finding the motivation to get up. I make sure Archimedes has enough food and water. Scoop his litter. Leave him entirely too many treats. I text my landlord to tell them that I’m going out of town for the weekend and will be back on Sunday, because what if I die like in my dream and no one knows I’m gone?

“Who would take care of you, little guy?” I ask Archimedes. He pushes the closet door open with his paw, just a crack, wondering what I’m going on about. “I’m looking after you. Give me some sugar.”

He declines.

He was never this way with Ravi. Ravi always got sugar.

Ravi didn’t die in my dream. Neither did Tanya. At least, I didn’t see them die. I wonder if that means something.

Wait.

Tanya doesn’t even exist. She was just part of the dream, a manifestation of my subconscious. Ravi wouldn’t bring a date to Steph and Jace’s wedding. That’s crazy behavior. That’s nightmare behavior.

It occurs to me now that Danny isn’t real, either. My version of him, anyway. A good-looking rich dude that I seemed to genuinely connect with who offered to whisk me off to Tokyo in our final moments. Of course, that’s fucking fiction.

It’s too early to leave, but I don’t want to just hang around here stewing in my gloomy mood. I want to get to the venue and see all the ways it’s different than it was in my dream. As the day plays out, I’ll feel better.

I check that I didn’t leave the faucets running, that the burners on the stove are off. I wheel my suitcase into the hall and take a video of me locking the door so later when I inevitably wonder if I locked the door, I’ll have hard evidence.

I struggle with my suitcase down the stairs, out to my car. Struggle to lift it into the trunk. It’s embarrassing, this lack of upper-body strength. My arms are noodles. I haven’t been to the gym in months, but my whole body is inexplicably sore, muscles tense, calves aching. I must have been tossing and turning through the night or something. I sink into the driver’s seat and take a minute to massage my neck.

My car sputters to a start, and I hold my breath until I’m able to successfully pull out onto the road. It’s about a two-hour drive north up to the Hudson Valley, to the venue. I put on my stupid pop playlist and sing along at the top of my lungs, until my voice goes hoarse, until I’m off the highway and my view out the windshield transforms, the landscape necessitating quiet.

It’s just so beautiful up here that it feels sacred. The sky is so blue, the river wide and shimmering under the sun. The mountains, the trees, the…the inescapable feeling that I’ve already been here.

I’m pretty sure.

Maybe?

I consider calling Cassie again, begging for her reassurance, because my own is proving inadequate. I’m reaching for something, anything solid I can brace myself against.