Page 53 of Back to Me

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

GRAHAM

I had another dream last night.

Similar to the last, but not at all the same.

In this dream, I’m standing in front of the gallery I purchased for me and Sara, staring at my reflection in the tall, glass window. The street was empty and desolate, not a single person found in the reflection staring back at me other than myself. My hands were covered in paint, and my jeans were loosely tucked into my untied black boots. But despite my outer image of disarray, I smiled. I smiled knowing I had finally earned what I promised myself and Sara. We were living the life we had always wanted, and I was the one who had given it to her.

Still smiling to myself, staring at my reflection, Sara suddenly appeared. I watched in the reflection of that tall glass window as she slowly walked toward me. She walked along the sidewalk, her bare feet silently padding across the bare concrete. Standing beside me, her eyes found mine in the clear glass. Her eyes were sad, and her long golden hair brushed across her face. Gusts of wind blew against her emerald green dress. The same beautiful, emerald green dress which doesn’t even compare to the beauty of her eyes.

But in this reflection, she stared back at me with those sad, worried eyes, and my shoulders fell. Pressure dug into the muscle of my shoulders and back, weighing me down. My smile disappeared, and a single tear spilled from Sara’s emerald eyes.

“Why?” she asked.

The wind danced across my aching skin, and I deflated. Confused, I stared into her watery eyes. “What do you mean, why?” I whispered.

“Why would you do this to me?” she asked, once more. Another tear sliding down her cheek.

Her blonde hair continued to blow against the wind, covering her sad, worried face.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

This time, she didn’t speak. The wind continued to blow against her emerald green dress and her long, blonde hair when she turned around, walking back in the direction she came from, her bare feet padding across the sidewalk.

Staring at my reflection, I stood in front of that empty, desolate gallery and watched as a single tear spilled from my deep blue eyes. I stood there with nothing left but an empty, desolate gallery and myself.

I woke up this morning, thankful it was only a dream.

The shadows waning across my bedroom, I’m still lying in bed, the effects of my dream finally wearing off. Turning over, Sara’s body is buried beneath our sheets, her back turned toward me. I sigh, a familiar sadness washing over me.

She’s been different. I noticed it the day she called me from the grocery store when I was stuck in traffic.

I didn’t make it home for nearly another two hours after our phone call, and when I got home, I had found Sara curled up on the couch. She had a blanket pulled up high, resting just below her chin. Her wide green eyes stared at the TV, and when I sat beside her, her body shivered as if she hadn’t known I was even in the room. She was acting strange, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. When I asked her about dinner, she closed her eyes, apologizing for forgetting one of the main ingredients and telling me she had decided to order Chinese food instead.

Since then, she rarely leaves the apartment or my side. If I run to the store, she offers to join me. And not once does she offer to have a night out to herself. She stays within the walls of our apartment, tethered to my side. But I’m not complaining. Why would I?

Her back is still facing me, and I slide my hand beneath the sheets, wrapping my arm around her. I pull her close, feeling the soft skin of her back press against my chest. I’m unsure whether she’s awake, but I don’t speak, allowing myself to feel this with her and bury my face into her hair. Taking a deep breath, the scent of her lemon soap fills my senses. My palm presses against her smooth, flat stomach, and I silently repeat to myself how thankful I am my dream was simply a dream.

Her body curls in as she tucks her feet in farther and her back bends inward, away from me. Cool air passes through the now empty space between us, and I feel her distance with me grow. I can feel her clutching to me one minute, then in the blink of an eye, she’s pulling away.

“Hey.” Her voice is muffled as she keeps her back facing me. She doesn’t turn around, so I press my lips to her shoulder, pulling her body back to mine.

“Hey,” I whisper. “Are you excited for today?”

Her body sighs beneath my arm. “Kind of. I’m more nervous than anything else. Are you?”

“Nervous, excited,”—I smile against her skin—“nauseous, proud. Probably every emotion described in the English language.”

A small laugh escapes her, and my body warms, relieved to have been the reason for its beautiful sound. “Same.”

“It’s going to be amazing.”

“Yeah,” she hesitates.

Resting my cheek against her shoulder, I breathe in her warmth and gently press my lips to her delicate skin. “I’ll go and make us some breakfast.”

Sliding out from under the sheets, I leave Sara in my bed. Walking into the kitchen in only my underwear, I think about everything I still need to do to prepare for tonight.

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