Page 100 of Amnesty

Did that make us friends?

Could two tortured women forge a friendship under such dire circumstances, or was it purely survival instinct?

Maybe it wasn’t friendship, but instead a sort of bond. Bonded together by something only the pair of us could experience. I would think a bond like that would be stronger than friendship.

Why, then?

Why did it feel I was looking at a stranger when I looked at Sadie?

Was it the amnesia, the reminder, or was it something more?

I said it before, and I would say it again. Sadie made me uncomfortable. The kind of uncomfortable that felt as though there was something lodged in your throat. Something thick and unforgiving, something bone dry that would never go down no matter how many times I swallowed, no matter how much water I drank.

My body remained in a constant state of hypervigilance when she was in the same room—hell, under the same roof. I hated it. I felt guilty for it. I tried to reason it away.

That was the thing with feelings, though, wasn’t it? You felt them whether you wanted to or not.

I felt her eyes all evening long—when she wasn’t looking at Eddie, that is. The area between my shoulder blades tingled when I excused myself for bed later that night. Eddie was staying here tonight, something I didn’t find unusual, except there was something about him tonight. Something unspoken.

I asked of course. He’d been this way since I went into work this afternoon. He denied it, and at first, I believed him, but as the night wore on, my nerves began to crackle with intuition.

I was dressed in one of his T-shirts I’d stolen from his drawer when he quietly slipped into the room. We didn’t say anything, but I went to him, stepping right into his arms with a deep sigh.

After a moment, I pulled back, gathered the hem of his shirt, and pulled it slowly over his head. He helped by lifting his arms, allowing me to remove it totally.

Once it was gone, I stared at his skin, which seemed to glow in the dark of the room. Smoothing my hands over the expanse of his chest, I pressed a single kiss above his heart, then climbed into bed.

Stripped down to nothing but his boxers, Eddie slid in beside me, making sure to tuck the covers around us. Shifting close, I fit myself along him, pressing my ear against his chest.

There was a lot to say it seemed, a lot of currents traveling through the room.

We didn’t say anything, though, not a single word.

All that mattered was he was here. That I was here.

That we were together.

Darkness closed around us like a thick blanket. The steady rise and fall of his chest beneath my head was soothing. My eyes grew heavy to the steady sound of his heartbeat.

Deep sleep wrapped around me, finally relieving me of the hypervigilance stringing me tight. I don’t know how much true rest I got. I just knew, eventually, something stirred around me. Disrupting those currents I’d mentioned before.

A new one vibrated throughout my room, sort of like a rock song layered on top of a Top 100 hit. They didn’t mesh well, didn’t play nice.

The sound of Eddie’s heartbeat came back to me. The very sound that just lulled me to sleep was now the very thing keeping me awake.

My stomach turned uncomfortably. I lay there with my eyes closed, wondering if I’d had some kind of nightmare that left me feeling sick and shaken. Nausea sat deep in my stomach like a coiled snake waiting to strike.

I shifted, trying to move away from the feeling, but I couldn’t get away from something that was already inside me. I squeezed my eyes shut and told myself it was only a dream, trying to find solace in the steady pounding of Eddie’s heart.

There was no solace there. Not right now. Now, twistedly, the sound unsettled me more. Caused cramps to squeeze my insides, making my toes curl into my feet.

The sound of his heartbeat was like a ticking clock. A ticking time bomb. Every beat took him closer to death; every rhythmic thump could be his last.

The sound was pure frailty, reminding me just how fickle life could be. How I could lose him in just an instant.

I lay there silently, squirming against him beneath the covers that felt like electric blankets turned up extra high.

It’s just a bad dream. Eddie’s fine. Everything is fine.I promised myself, beginning to take deep, soothing breaths.

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