Page 38 of Kiss Slay Replay

“Willa,” she says. “Gimme a sec.”

I hear screaming in the background. Theo.

“Luke? Luke, the bottle. No, not that one…in the…yeah.” She sighs. “Sorry, Wills. What’s up? Luke! Yes…thank you. Jesus Christ. Sorry.”

“I’m, um…I’m kind of freaking out.”

She’s quiet.

“I…It was today, it was the wedding, and I was there, we were there, and it was the cabins and the reception hall and the ceremony and…and there was this figure, this man, and he…he killed me. He stabbed me in the head with a, um, a bowie knife. And I…I died.”

“Soooo…you had a nightmare? You’re telling me about a nightmare?” I can hear in her voice that her patience is threadbare.

A nightmare. A dream. Right. Obviously.

“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah, I guess,” I say. “But it was so real, Cass. So vivid. And long. It was the whole day of the wedding. I got up, I did work, I drove, listened to my playlists. And you were there. And Evan. Steph. Wyatt. Luke. Jace…and, and Danny. Jace’s friend, Danny. I’ve never met him before. Have you?”

“No,” she says. “Luke! That one. No, not that one. That one. Sorry. Listen, Wills. It sounds like a stress dream. Which makes sense. Was Ravi in the dream?”

“Yeah, but…but it wasn’t really about him.” Only now I’m not certain. Was it? “We all got murdered by this giant mystery man in a mask covered in duct tape and zippers and eyeballs. He had a utility belt with all sorts of weapons and, like, tools. Hammers and—”

“I’m just going to stop you there and own up to the fact I might have been wrong to get you hooked on horror in your current vulnerable state. That’s on me. My bad.”

“The dream was so visceral, Cass. Every conversation. Every…every second of it. My senses. Touch, taste, sight, smell…It was…I watched Steph bleed out in front of me. Her eyes were gone.”

“Willa. Take a deep breath. First of all, do you think that the bride dying is your subconscious trying to work some shit out? Second, the eye thing, while also probably worth some subconscious examination, that’s definitely a kill from Farm Possession 3. A lot of gouging in the third one. Some would say excessive.”

“I haven’t even seen that one.” Or have I? I don’t remember. I’ve been such a zombie lately, spent far too many hours with my brain off, mouth open, drooling in front of my laptop streaming movies to escape reality. Maybe I did see it. Maybe I was half asleep watching, and it seeped into my subliminal mind.

“Then congratulations, you’re fucked-up all on your own.”

“I am, Cass. I’m fucked-up.” And I’m clammy and I’m nauseous and I’m exhausted, like I haven’t slept. I use the wall to help me stand and then hobble toward the bathroom. Flip on the light. Stare at myself in the mirror. There are dark circles under my eyes but there’s no knife wound in my head. So, there’s that.

I open my mouth as if I’m screaming but don’t make a sound. I scrunch my nose. Stick my tongue out. Raise an eyebrow. I make crazy faces, just to prove to myself that I can, that I’m here and in control. Just to make sure that I’m in sync with my reflection. That I’m me. In this body. Behind these eyes. Alive.

“Willa Ann?”

“I’m here.”

“I’m sorry you had a bad dream. It’s your head exorcising its demons. Culling your fears ahead of the wedding.”

“How come we never talk about how our subconscious basically exists just to fuck with us?”

“Who is we? Everyone talks about it. Are you familiar with the concept of therapy? Go search dream dictionary on—”

“Oof. All right. Fair.”

“Dreams can be hard to shake, but try to just let it go, Wills. It’s going to be a fun weekend. Buck up, honey! If not for yourself, for Steph and Jace.”

“Yeah.” She wants me—needs me—to be fine, to get my shit together, because she doesn’t have the capacity to carry me through this. She has a million other things to deal with, and I feel selfish and stupid for wanting and needing more from her.

“I should go. I have to write a list for Luke’s mom for the weekend. A whole baby Theo instruction manual. And then check to make sure that Luke has packed his suit like he’s promised me a thousand times he has but I’m willing to bet he has not.” There’s a crash in the background. Theo’s crying again.

“Go, go, go,” I tell her. “I’ll see you soon. Love you.”

“Love you.” She hangs up.

I set my phone down next to the sink and lean closer to the mirror, my hips pressing against the vanity. My eyes are glassy and scary bloodshot. I let them close. I touch them behind the soft curtains of my lids, feel them shift around. I press. Gently, at first. Then a little harder. A little harder.