Page 94 of Kiss Slay Replay

The alien responds in one word. The word is not spoken out loud, or in a language I should understand, but I hear it, and I do. I understand. The word is, “Okay.”

I’m falling through the dark.

I’m falling. Falling, falling, falling, falling, falling. Because this is what happens when we’re let go. When we let go. We fall.

Wind whips through my hair, my limbs flail like fucking crazy, and it’s happening so fast I don’t even have time to wonder how long it’ll take to hit the ground. I don’t even have time to scream.

1

I reach for my spare pillow, pull it over my face, and scream into it.

I’d go on screaming, but it’s so draining. It takes too much energy, and I have none. This exhaustion is gutting; it’d be enough to drive me insane on its own. How many days in a row can someone go with little to no sleep? Without rest?

How am I supposed to get myself out of the loop if I can barely get myself out of bed?

And what’s the point? I’m just going to die again anyway, along with everyone I love.

Archimedes jumps on the mattress, probably both disturbed by my muffled scream and anxious it will interfere with the serving of breakfast. I let the pillow fall away, reach out for him, and he permits a brief cuddle. The thought of him scared and suffering is beyond devastating. What happens in the loop after I die? Does it end for everyone else? Does that timeline cease to exist?

Is there a world where he’s still hidden behind the toilet as aliens destroy everything around him?

“All right, Archie. Come on, bud.” I release him and he runs to his food dish. I feed him, make myself some coffee, and sit at the counter staring off into space while massaging my temples.

I rewind back to the first time I lived this day. I go through everything I did that morning, trying to pinpoint if there was some shift, something noticeable that might have caused a tear in the…I don’t know. Space-time fucking continuum.

But there’s nothing. I got up. Did some work. Packed. Prepared to leave. Left. Went to the wedding. Is that where it started? When it started?

I think it’s fair to say that not going to the wedding didn’t work. Really did not work.

Cassie’s exasperated voice is in my ear, recommending horror as medicine. A reminder it could always be worse.

A masked killer. Demon ravens at the beck and call of a phantom in a top hat. Zombies. Aliens. There’s no avoiding the horror. It will find me and swallow up the whole world in the process. If I don’t figure it out, it will get worse. Because it could always be worse.

I let my head back and blow a raspberry at the ceiling.

I have to figure this out.

I have to go to the wedding.

And here’s Cass again, telling me, Buck up, honey!

I’ve been so down, so scared of accepting where I’m at, scared of confronting the uncertainty of my life as it is now. Maybe this is the universe forcing me to face it. Maybe if I adjust my outlook, my attitude, it will change the trajectory of the day, and the loop will stop?

My coffee has gone cold, but I drink it anyway, then pour myself another cup. I open my deck for work. Good for this A-lister and their entrepreneurial spirit. We all could use a drink, right? Another bottle in the selection, a win for all. I finish and send it in.

I take a long shower, scrub the bad energy off me with a loofah I probably should have replaced weeks ago. I towel off, lotion myself, wipe the fog from the mirror, and practice smiling.

I’m not super confident a big, strained smile will save me, but it’s something. A start. A wish. A hope. My brain is mush, my body is beat, and my options are limited. If this is some cosmic punishment or reckoning, maybe I can appease the universe with sugar.

I text Cassie and Evan that I can’t wait to see them, that I’m excited to spend the weekend together.

Are you really? Evan responds.

Luke is packing the cooler full of liquor, Cassie says. LMK if u have requests.

Evan promptly requests, Dom Pérignon.

How about some Bud Light? she responds.