Matthew
I’m running through a hallway. My legs feel like they’re moving through mud, and there’s this pressure in my chest that won’t let up.
Sothing’s wrong.
I know it before I even see her, like my body’s picking up a signal my brain hasn’t processed yet. Sarah is in trouble, and for so reason, that matters more than it should.
The walls around pulse like they’re breathing. One mont they are the faded yellow of my childhood ho, then they morph into the stark white of a hospital corridor. I hear a sound. A muffled cry, and my heart jumps into my throat.
"Sarah?" My voice bounces back at , hollow and useless.
I turn a corner and suddenly I’m in a room I don’t recognize. It’s dim, with shadows pooling in the corners like spilled ink.
And there she is.
Sarah stands by the window, her back to . When she turns, my breath catches. She is wearing her wedding dress. Her belly is round and full. She’s pregnant.
"Matthew," she says, but her lips don’t move. Her voice is just there, inside my head. "You ca."
I try to step toward her, but my feet won’t budge. The floor feels like it’s tilting, sliding away from her instead of closer. "What’s going on?" I ask.
Her eyes widen suddenly, focusing on sothing behind . Fear splashes across her face like cold water.
I try to turn to see what she’s seeing, but my body won’t cooperate. It’s like I’m frozen from the neck down, trapped in place while sothing terrible creeps closer. "What is it?" I manage to choke out. "Sarah, what’s wrong?"
"They’re coming," she whispers, her hand moving to protect her belly. "They said they’d find ."
"Who’s coming? Who’s ’they’?" The words feel thick and clumsy on my tongue.
She whimpers.
"Sarah, just—just co here, okay?" Despite everything, despite all the shit between us, all I want is to put myself between her and whatever’s making her look so scared. "I’ll help you. Just co to ."
She shakes her head, tears tracking down her cheeks. "You hate ," she whispers.
"I don’t hate you," I say. "Just let help you."
Sarah presses herself further against the window, her hands splayed protectively over her pregnant belly.
"Matthew," she says, her face pale. And then I see blood seeping out of her white dress.
"Sarah!" I shout in panic and move toward her, putting every ounce of strength into breaking whatever invisible force holds back.
"Our baby is dead," she whispers as she looks down.
"No!" I cry out again.
~-~
I jolt awake with a gasp that feels like it’s being torn from sowhere deep in my chest.
My t-shirt is stuck to my skin, and cold sweat is making everything clammy and gross. My heart’s doing this weird stuttering thing like it can’t decide between racing and stopping altogether.
A nightmare.
I just had a fucking nightmare.
For a few seconds, I don’t know where I am. My brain scrambles to make sense of shadows and shapes that don’t match the dark room from my dream. I blink hard, trying to reset my vision, my breathing still coming in quick, shallow bursts.
I swallow hard and run a hand over my face. It cos away damp. Jesus. I haven’t had a nightmare that bad since I was a kid.
Sothing moves in my peripheral vision, and my head snaps toward it.
There, sitting at the dresser, is Sarah.
For a second, I think I’m still dreaming. She’s perched on the little bench in front of the mirror, running a brush through her long blonde hair with slow strokes.
The relief that floods through is so intense it’s almost embarrassing.
What the hell is wrong with ? It was just a dream. A stupid, aningless dream that doesn’t deserve this kind of reaction.
Sarah’s fine. And even if she wasn’t, why should I care?
Except my subconscious apparently didn’t get that mo, because my heart’s still racing like I just ran a marathon.
I glance back at Sarah. She hasn’t noticed I’m awake yet. She looks so serious brushing her hair that I almost chuckle.
I stand up slowly and walk toward her.
She’s alive. She’s here. The relief of it makes dizzy.
I rember the nightmare again—her eyes wide with fear, her hands protectively covering her pregnant belly, the shadow consuming her inch by inch while I stood helpless, unable to save her. I recall the crushing weight of loss, the desperate wish that I could go back and do things differently.
But that wasn’t real. This is real. Sarah, solid and warm and breathing, sitting at my dresser like she has a hundred tis before.
Her eyes catch mine in the mirror. Her hand stills, the brush pausing mid-stroke. "What’s wrong?" she asks, and her voice is soft in the quiet room.
I don’t answer right away. Can’t answer, really, because what would I say? That I had a nightmare about her dying? That I woke up terrified when I thought she was gone? That despite all my talk about hating her, I was desperately trying to save her?
Yeah, no. Not happening.
I reach out and pick up a lock of her hair. I run my fingers down the length of that strand, from where it ets her scalp to its feathered end. Her hair really is her best feature. Aside from her eyes.
"Matthew?" she prompts, and I realize I still haven’t answered her question.
I clear my throat. "Nothing’s wrong," I lie, letting her hair slip through my fingers. "Just couldn’t sleep."
She doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t press.
She resus brushing her hair. I watch, still standing too close, still not sure why I ca over here in the first place.
"I won’t be ho for dinner tomorrow," she says after a while, her tone casual. "I made plans with Rebecca. We’re trying that new Thai place on Jefferson."
"Oh," I say. "So you two are friends again, huh?"
Sarah nods, setting the brush down on the dresser. "Yeah, she’s been wanting to try this place for ages. Apparently, they have the best pad Thai in the city." She turns slightly on the bench, half-facing now, her knee brushing against my leg.
"Great," I say. "Is Josh going too?"
Sarah’s expression doesn’t change, but sothing in her eyes goes a little harder, a little more distant. "Don’t start."
I shrug.
"No," she says after a mont. "Josh isn’t coming. It’s just and Rebecca."
I nod, trying to ignore the stupid rush of relief her words bring.
"Anyway," she continues, turning back to the mirror, "I just wanted to let you know so you wouldn’t wonder where I was."
"Right," I say.
"Are you sure you’re okay?" she asks. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost."
"I’m fine," I snap. "Why didn’t you wake up?" I ask as I eye the clock on the wall. It was barely nine o’clock.
"Oh...you just looked so peaceful, so I thought I’d let you sleep," she says and smiles at .
Sothing in my chest loosens and I bend down to kiss the top of her head.
Her eyes widen in surprise as if this act is more shocking than my cruel treatnt of her.
"I...um...I am going out for a bit," I say, hurrying out of the room.
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