Page 62 of Estranged Heart
“Oh, it’s morning. Three a.m. definitely counts.”
I throw my head back, my laughter shifting to a long moan as I come, losing all feeling in my limbs. Pleasure explodes inside me, and I feel like hot liquid is pouring into my bloodstreamwhile tiny cold sparks tingle along my spine. Still hard as a rock inside me, Elijah tries to pull out, but I grab his hip, holding him in place. “Not yet.”
The oversensitivity already has my balls screaming out right alongside my throbbing hole, but I don’t care. I’m not ready to separate from him. To feel empty. I have plenty of time for that when this all ends. Long ago, I learned to stop going after anything too out of my reach, to keep from being too disappointed. Elijah was definitely a stretch too far but I went for him anyway. He was the far swim I didn’t learn my lesson from after nearly drowning the first time. I keep splashing forward anyway, so fast and deep, I might not make it out when it happens again.
The heart failure that comes with this man isn’t one paramedics can revive me from. The pain and loss of life will stay with me even if I physically survive it. You can’t replace an emotionally broken heart, and I’m not used to allowing my body to heal on its own. Someone always intervened. I can tell already that even the strongest medicine won’t so much as touch the damage he’ll leave behind.
Elijah’s circling hips bring me back to my reality, and tiny aftershocks of my orgasm zap at all the places he touches. “Fuck, you feel so damn good. I’m never inside you long enough. It’s never enough.”
With a few jerks of his hips, he’s grunting into my hair, piercing the skin of my shoulder with his nails. Warm rushes of liquid fill me and I smile, dozing off as he cleans me up. He can’t stop kissing me while he does it, making me feel as if I’m everything precious in the world to him. He had that already, though, with the other owner of the house he refuses to let me inside of. Landon was his whole world, and if I really do have his heart in me, that’ll explain why I feel like I do right now. I’m not ready to know it’s not me that’s keeping him here. I want toremain in the clouds a little longer before letting the water pull me back under.
I’m in the woods, and one foot is moving quickly in front of the other, my body gaining momentum with each stride. Trees are all around me, swaying and looming over me like giant monsters showing me glimpses of their claws as I run faster. The sky grows darker, a black cloak spreading across the trees and grass. I keep going, not stopping when I can no longer see what’s in front of me. Laughter chases me, followed by loud footsteps, both threatening to catch up at any second. I don’t know where I’m going, slipping further into a void as I distance myself from the unwelcoming noises.
Fingers dig into my shoulder, shaking me hard, and my body stiffens in fear, blood chilling in my ears.
“I got you,” a deep, scratchy voice says.
“No,” I scream, finally finding my voice and getting feeling in my limbs. I kick and swing and arms envelope me, prickly hairs scratching my cheek.
I open my eyes and I’m back inside the tent. Morning light casts a bright glow on the orange fabric, and when I crane my neck, Elijah’s big brown eyes are staring at me.
“It’s okay, Sunshine. I got you. You’re okay. It was only a bad dream.”
“I . . .” I breathe in and out. “It felt so real. Just like the others. It was different, though. I’m usually never in my own body.”
His eyes blink slowly. “You have nightmares often?”
“Yeah.” My gaze flickers down and then back up at him. “They didn’t start until after the transplant. Sometimes I think they might be old memories.”
“Are they?” He lifts his head onto his closed fist, stroking my cheek.
“No . . . Not mine at least.”
His eyes narrow in on me. “What do you mean? Like you’re getting someone else’s?”
I swallow hard, pressing my palm to my chest. “I think they belong to my heart donor,” I stammer. “I know I sound crazy but I feel crazy sometimes too. I have flashbacks and thoughts that make me feel as if I’m on the outside looking in, somehow invading someone else’s privacy.”
“You know, I’ve heard of something like this. Or read it in an article while I was randomly scrolling the internet. It’s called cellular memory. It’s rare but does happen, and there’s one woman who’s never quite felt like herself, even years later. She got some of her donor’s memories, dreams, and personality traits.”
“I didn’t know that was a thing,” I say. Except I did and couldn’t stop thinking about the possibility of it currently happening to me.
“I’m sure most don’t. I like reading about stuff like that though. Strange phenomena.”
“So I’m a strange phenomenon?”
“Well, you certainly are rare.” He scoots closer to me. “So you think your donor had a lot of nightmares, or maybe suffered a traumatic event before they died?”
“I don’t know.” I bite my bottom lip. “I get dreams too. I’m there with someone else usually, only I’m not me, but we’re both so happy and familiar.”
“That has to be really strange. Yet it’s also kind of remarkable if you think about it. This person passed on but is still livingthrough you. Do you recognize the other person at all? You think it was a partner or good friend?”
I pause, my stomach plummeting. “No,” I lie. “I mean, I don’t know who he is.” I can’t tell him it’s him I saw and how much he felt like mine when I ran into him in person. How the dreams only increased from there, making me ache to experience it all for real. My chest caves. I have his dead husband’s heart, don’t I? How do you tell a person that? Will he believe we met by chance when I do?
There’s no hard evidence to prove what I believe to be true. He says cellular memory is rare, and what if I started dreaming of him because I’ve seen him somewhere else without remembering? What if I tell him I’m dreaming Landon’s memories and I’m wrong? There’s too much at stake for me to be wrong.
“Sounds like someone who’s close to whoever the memory or dream belongs to.”
“Yeah, or maybe I’m just insane and slowly losing my mind.”
