Page 10 of A World Without You
Colin wraps me in his arms, laughing through his nose. “You’re my favorite brand of crazy.” He draws back. “But maybe no more edibles with wine.”
I snort out a laugh. I haven’t done edibles in years. Graham didn’t care much. But in Roslyn, if you took edibles, you were a certain “type” of person. And apparently, I didn’t want to be that. Not to mention, there was only one dispensary nearby, and it was sketchy, to say the least.
Running my hands through my long—much longer and darker than it was last night—auburn hair, I say, “I just need a shower.”
Colin takes the mug from me as I stand up from the bed and make my way to the bathroom.
“I’ll join you,” he says with a smile in his voice.
“What? No!” I shriek and whip around. He pulls back his chin with a crumpled brow, confused. I shake off my abrasive reaction. “I mean...” I take what I hope is a sultry-ish step toward him and run my hands over his bare chest. “Give me a minute?”
His gaze slides down my body and back to my eyes. “All right. I’ll go make breakfast.”
I draw a sharp, nervous breath in as he leans in to kiss me. It’s just a soft peck on my lips, but it feels like a memory and not a dream.
All of this is just too real. He leaves the room, leaving the door wide open, and I stare out at the view of the Seattle skyline and the Space Needle outside the window. I’ve never been here but it’s all vaguely familiar. Which makes sense, really. I’ve created this in the recesses of my mind and projected them into this dream.
The feeling intensifies as I enter the ensuite.
Gold fixtures. White cabinets. Claw foot tub. Marble floors and shower. I can’t help but think all this marble must be a bitch to clean. But when my feet hit the cold stone of the floors, it hits me: I’ve been here before.
I shake off the feeling. Of course, it’s familiar. This is a dream. Dreams are states of the mind—motion pictures we build out of our own subconscious.
As the hot water wets my hair and I run my fingers through it, the feeling intensifies. I grab the shampoo and lather my wet hair. When the scent hits my nose, I know I’ve smelled this before. It’s fresh and luxurious with hints of vanilla and orange. I must have used this at a salon at some point.
I go through the rest of the motions of showering. When I run the gray loofah over my left arm, I notice the scar from when I fell off a horse two years ago is gone.
What the hell?
It’s trippy, really. I have grown accustomed to the scar. It ran from the middle of my forearm to my elbow. I developed a nervous tick after it healed—I rubbed it with my right thumb constantly when I felt pressured or confused. Graham would always grab my hand and stop me from itching it.
Graham. He must be worried sick, thinking I wound up in a ditch. He’s probably called the Sheriff and filed a missing person’s report. I should call him, especially after how we left things. But for the life of me, I can’t remember his number—
Oh. Because I’m dreaming.
I laugh in the steamy bathroom air as I step on the bathmat and wrap a lush white towel around my center.
When I stare at my reflection in the mirror, I realize: I live here.
I fling open the center drawer on the vanity and expose the most organized and clean makeup drawer I’ve ever seen.
Scratch that. I have seen it. It used to be mine. Five years ago. Before I met Graham. Before I moved. Before we built a ranch-style house on ten acres. Before my makeup routine consisted of tinted moisturizer and mascara. He liked me au-natural, he said. The face God gave me is beautiful.
“I never said it wasn’t, Graham,” I scoff to myself, then smile.
Makeup is just fun. I dig my hands into the makeup drawer filled with thousands of dollars’ worth of makeup. Good makeup is expensive. When I put the concealer on, I remember why. It’s been a while since I’ve gotten really dolled up and even longer since I’ve seen Colin. I might as well go all out.
Thirty minutes later, I emerge from the bedroom with a full face of light makeup and my hair dried and curled into deep waves. I put on white lace panties and wrap my body in a robe because I don’t know what the itinerary for this day looks like in this dream.
When I reach the kitchen, Colin is humming “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” and I don’t know if I should laugh or cry. He senses my entrance into the kitchen and smiles at me over his shoulder as he flips a pancake, then switches his attention back to the pan sizzling with sausage.
“Gluten-free pigs in a blanket, my love?” he asks, not looking at me.
I laugh. “What? Am I on a diet?”
He turns, concern etched on his handsome face. “No, you have celiac, weirdo.” He’s teasing, but the words shock me.
“Wow. This dream sucks,” I mutter.
