Page 31 of Psyop Kings

And now I have dreams to contend with.

I can’t tell if they’re actual voices I heard while asleep or made up. Either way, it’s making me lose my mind.

I’m desperate to get out of this insane loop.

This morning, instead of rushing to turn on lights and inspect everything in my prison, I keep my eyes closed, hoping to ignore my situation for a little while longer.

I miss Bastian. He’s probably sick with worry since I haven’t called or sent him a text. It gives me comfort that my older brother has most likely attempted to get to the bottom of my sudden disappearance.

But will he ever find me?

I don’t even know where I am.

My chest aches and my bones feel heavy. I’m all cried out. Sometimes I wish I never went on a quest to find Megan.

With a tired sigh, I open my eyes and prepare for another day in hell. I reach for the bedside lamp, but it’s not there. My hand smacks the wall instead. It’s then I realize a familiar smell.

Tide.

It’s the detergent I use.

A tendril of hope wriggles its way into my heart. Maybe I’ve been having a terrible dream and I’m finally waking up from it.

Rolling to the other side, I nearly cry out with happiness when my hand touches the familiar lamp I’d bought after arriving in LA. I flick it on, and the room is bathed in warm yellow light.

I expect the horrible, neutral grays that have been haunting me.

Instead, I see Tara’s messy bed and a pile of shoes next to it. Tears burn my eyes, but I quickly bat them away as I rush to sit up. My fuzzy UGG slippers are in their usual place. Happily, I slide my bare feet into them. I’m no longer wearing the same outfit of jeans, T-shirt, and hoodie. Now I’m wearing my favorite old T-shirt that Bastian gave me plus my pink cotton night shorts.

A sob rattles out of me.

Thank God.

It was all a stupid dream.

I stand and slowly turn in a circle, taking in my shared room. Tara’s Mac Demarco posters are exactly where they should be, the middle one annoyingly crooked. On my side are pictures of me and Bastian, inspirational quotes, and cute pictures of polar bears all taped to the wall.

Wow.

Talk about a messed-up dream.

I’m going to schedule a Zoom with Maura as soon as possible. My meds are apparently not working as they should be. When I see a box of brown sugar Pop-Tarts sitting on my desk, Isnatch it up and eagerly tear into one of the packages. The sweet treat makes me groan with pleasure. Dad never let me have Pop-Tarts growing up because they were “poison,” but as soon as I left for college, I stocked up on them and have been practically surviving on them since.

I’m not sure what day it is or where my phone is, but it doesn’t matter. I’m eager to get dressed and walk around campus to try to reorient myself to reality. After wolfing down a pack of Pop-Tarts, I strip out of my pajamas and then throw on a bra and a new pair of underwear. I find some black leggings to put on before then looking for a T-shirt. A worn-out black I Love NYC T-shirt sits folded on top. When I pull it out, though, I’m confused.

I Love SF.

San Francisco.

That’s not right.

Bringing the T-shirt to my nose, I inhale it. It smells like Tide with a hint of my perfume.

But it’s wrong.

It’s all wrong.

I pull on the T-shirt anyway and then start yanking all my shirts out of the drawer. They’re all the same as I remember. Maybe this one belongs to Tara.

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