Page 5 of A Stop in Time

What the hell happened? I thought I’d been doing better at managing my blackout headaches, but last night, I hadn’t even felt the onset of one.

I’ve been dealing with these episodes for a while now—on top of my intermittent sleepwalking. Both are terrifying as hell since it happens out of the blue and without any warning.

There’s no rhyme or reason to it. I’ll often wake up with unexplained injuries. They’re always the result of me passing out from my debilitating headaches or when I stumble during a sleepwalking episode.

With a loud groan, I drag myself from my bed and plod over to the bathroom to get a look at myself. The instant I see my face’s reflection in the mirror, I breathe a sigh of relief.

A derisive smirk pulls at my lips while I stare at myself in the mirror, my sarcasm-laced words spilling out. “No more damage to the already marred masterpiece.” Thank fuck. I can’t afford for my face to scare anyone else more than it already does.

Gently, I press my fingertips around my ribs. They’re sore as hell, but I think they’re just badly bruised.

I rake my hands through my messy hair before twisting it up and securing it with a clip. Lowering my head over the sink, I turn on the faucet and splash some cool water on my face, hoping it will jolt my brain into remembering something.

Exhaling a frustrated breath, I cup more water in my hands and splash it on my face again. Instantly, my body jerks with the flash of memory of doing the same exact thing…except the water dripping off my face and hands and swirling around the sink drain is red.

I stare dully at the blood, and for some reason, I’m not horrified as much as I’m resigned. It’s as though I expected this outcome.

It’s only when I raise my head to stare at my reflection in the mirror that something odd happens. Buried deep, somehow, a minuscule memory fragment suddenly rears its head. My hands clutch the sink’s edge to steady me while my heart beats wildly.

With a myriad of purple and blue blotches, my right eye is swelled shut, and both my top and bottom lips are busted, the thinnest scabs formed over them. An angry slash of red mars my left cheekbone.

The man’s voice echoes in my head as if it’s on loudspeaker. “I’m the only one you can trust… I hate having to punish you…”

My entire body jerks upright. Water drips down my face as I stare into the mirror, my lashes wet and eyes barely blinking. My reflection shows nothing out of place. My face is exactly how it’s been.

What the hell was that? Was that a memory? And who was that man?

Drawing in deep and slow breaths, I stare at my reflection and try to compel my brain to show me more. But, after a long moment when nothing happens, I give up.

With a sigh, I slather toothpaste on my toothbrush and stick it in my mouth. Yanking the lever for the shower, I adjust the water temperature before stepping inside.

Water pours over me while I brush my teeth, and I wish like hell this shower had the capability to revive my memory’s missing gaps.

If only.

5

MAC

Public transportation is a circle of hell in itself. If Dante were still alive, I have no doubt he’d agree and revise Inferno to include it.

You might dismiss my claim, but I can back it up.

First of all, there’s no industrial-strength cleaner that holds the power to rid a city bus of the extremely noxious lingering body odor, unexplained stains, and the amalgamation of perfumes and colognes from countless people.

Trust me on this. It’s enough to cause the hairs in your nose to shrivel up and disintegrate…or come pretty damn close to it.

Second, the majority of people who use public transportation are positively clueless—or flat-out ignorant—when it comes to personal space and social niceties.

You’re probably wondering why the hell I’m taking the bus, then, right? It’s because I have no choice in the matter.

I don’t have friends or family—no, don’t pity me, because it’s just a fact—who I can rely on to give me a ride. Plus, using one of those rideshare apps is still way too pricey. The city bus is a hell of a lot cheaper and more convenient, especially since I can’t drive after being sedated at my doctor’s appointment.

But do I wish I didn’t have my episodes, because I’d be driving alone instead of sitting in a seat some drunk likely peed on at some point? Hell, yes.

In fact, right now, I’d really like it if the lady seated beside me would stop staring at the goddamn left side of my face.

You know what? Fuck it.

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