Page 56 of From West, With Regret

While the dream is still fresh, the image of him is unfocused. But I can still feel him, his warmth, his touch as he reached out and pressed his finger to my cheek. Even though I’ve only known West for a short time, I know it was him in my dream. He had the same crooked smile, the same laugh as he tilted his head, telling me I was beautiful.

The setting was somewhere we’d never been before, featuring a red plastic tablecloth and metal chairs that smelled of rust. Then there was the rapid beating of little feet racing through the kitchen.

All of it designed in my mind, coming together. But even as I stare at the brick wall, the vision of West fading from memory, I can’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t a dream at all. I’ve been there before.

I think.

It’s like unlocking a childhood memory. A smell. A sound. Or so I’ve heard. It’s never happened to me before.

My stomach curdles again. Needing to shake the feeling, I toss the blanket aside and slip into my sweatpants. I pile my hair high on my head and tiptoe around the bed, but as I head toward the kitchen, I realize the bed is empty, so I make my way out of the bedroom, following the blue light coming from our tiny living room.

I make a beeline for the cabinet and pull a glass from the bottom shelf. I fill it halfway with water, downing it in one go. I quickly refill it, eyeing Selene settled on the small, plush chair situated in the corner of the room. Her laptop sits open in her lap, her head resting against the cushion.

“What are you doing out here?” I ask her.

She shifts, lifting her head and sighing. “I couldn’t sleep. You?” She runs her hand down her face as she yawns.

“Dream.”

“A bad one?”

I frown, swallowing down another gulp of cold water. It offers momentary relief from the heat in my throat. “I’m not sure.”

Setting the glass down, I grip onto the edge of the counter, thinking of the best way to answer.

As my dream begins to fade in the rearview, my mind wanders back to a few short hours ago. The way West pleaded with me not to leave, watching me slip through his fingers. But in all honesty, I haven’t stopped thinking about all of it. The echo of the orgasm I was denied is still fresh. My thighs ache with a painful need. I need relief, and living and sleeping with my sister isn’t exactly the best situation for someone like me. Someone who has been denied any real satisfaction for years.

But I know what I’m feeling now is a self-inflicted wound.

I push down my regret from walking away from West earlier. Fear has taken hold, sinking its claws into every knee jerk reaction I’ve instilled over the years.

I ran from West because the truth was staring straight at me.

When I first met Heath the day he saved me from being crushed by a Porsche barreling down Newbury Street in Boston, he’d asked me out on a date. He took me to the fanciest restaurant—one well-known to the richest names in Boston. I felt out of place there, but Heath comforted me. I fell for his charm, thankful he’d saved me. Later that night, as he sat across from me with that charming smirk, I’d spilled my entire backstory to him. At least the parts I’d remembered. I told him about my amnesia, and he listened on with fascination. For several weeks after we officially became a couple, he pretended to care about helping me regain my memory. He'd constantly ask me if any memories had risen to the surface. At times, he would even force me to watch an old movie or listen to an old song, asking me if it triggered any memories. Then, I suppose,after a while, he’d given up on being the one to help regain my memory.

Looking back, that’s when he’d started to change. He’d lost his charm and with it, his ability to truly care about me.

However, in the few weeks I’ve known West, he’s managed to do what Heath tried so hard to do in those first weeks.

I don’t know if what I’m seeing and feeling are memories, or if my imagination is playing tricks on me—the mind is notoriously unreliable—but I do know they meansomething.

Myfeelingstoward him mean something, and it’s a terrifying realization.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had a dream.” Selene yawns, pulling me from my thoughts. “It sucks when you wake up and don’t know how you feel about it, though.” She uncrosses her legs and places her fuzzy, sock-covered feet on the faded carpet.

“Yeah,” I croak. I’m still tired and want to go back to bed, but when I close my eyes, will I have the same dream?

Several beats of silence descend upon the apartment. I’m setting my glass in the sink when Selene breaks it.

“I think I’m finished.” She slams her laptop shut.

“Really?” I move around the counter and stand at the edge of the living room.

“Yeah.” Her lips crack into a small smile. “It’s just the first draft and still needs work, but it’s done.”

“Selene.” I bounce on my heels. “That’s amazing. Congratulations!”

“Thank you.” She slides her laptop onto the coffee table and crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m thinking about self-publishing it, like you said. I just have to find a way to come up with the money.”

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