Chapter Three, Part One of Forgotten by Marti York
The next morning, I wake up to the memory of a dream. In it, I was sitting with Benny at an outdoor café table in front of a coffee shop. I can’t remember what we were talking about, but fear is clutching at my heart. I can’t say what caused the fear. It could’ve been the fact that I was outside. Or maybe it was Benny.
As I grapple with the memory, my chest rises and falls in rapid succession. Panic has my heartbeat racing. Firey pinpricks burn my skin. Feeling as if I’ll burst into flames if I don’t move, I throw off the blanket and sheet and get out of bed. I really need a drink of water, even more than I need to pee.
I move so fast I almost stumble in my rush to get to the kitchen. Glass, ice, water. I gulp down half before the fire in my chest subsides.
I’m still breathing hard when my cell phone rings. It’s a little past 8 a.m., and I realize I overslept. I look at my phone. It’s the front desk, probably telling me Peter is here.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Copper. It’s George at the front desk. Mr. Raven is here to see you.”
“Thank you, George. You can let him come up.”
“Will do, Ms. Copper.”
I hang up and stare at my front door. Too soon, the knock comes. I set the glass on the counter and look down at my pajamas – a tank top with no bra and a pair of shorts. If Peter sees me like this, I’ll die of embarrassment. I run to the bedroom, throw on my robe, and make it to the front door just as the second knock rattles the air.
Even before I get the door all the way open, I’m saying, “Sorry. I overslept.”
“No problem. You’re allowed,” Peter assures me. “Do you want me to come back later?”
I tighten the robe’s belt just to occupy my shaking hands. “No, no. Come in.”
He steps over the threshold and shuts the door behind him. “Have you had coffee? I can make some while you…” He gestures with his hand toward my robe.
“Yes. Coffee would be great. Thanks. I’ll get dressed.”
On my way to the bedroom, I smooth my hair. My face heats with the realization that it’s probably a mess, and Peter saw it.
I stop in the bathroom first. And sure enough, my hair is a rat’s nest. I drag a brush through it, wincing with every tug of a knot. Then I use the toilet, wash my face, and brush my teeth. I change into lightweight exercise pants, a sports bra, and a too big t-shirt since Peter said he was going to teach me some self-defense moves today.
By the time I get to the kitchen, the remnants of my dream-fueled anxiety have subsided. All I’m left with is confusion. What did it mean? Was it just a dream or a memory returning?
Peter offers me a mug. “Cream and sweetener, right?”
I take the mug and sip. Perfect. “Just like I like it. Thank you so much.” Then I simply stare into the mug, wondering if I should tell Peter about the dream.
“Something wrong?” he asks.
I jerk my gaze to his. And because he looks genuinely concerned, I say, “Do you think I can trust Benny?”
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