Page 72 of Kiss Slay Replay

There’s nothing to be scared of, he’d say. It’s all in your head.

He was always telling me that things were in my head.

The cat is mad at me. It’s in your head. He’s a cat, Willa.

Do you hear that dripping? No. Really? It’s probably nothing. Probably in your head.

We’ve definitely watched this movie before. We’ve never seen this. You must be confusing it with something else.

I must be confused.

It’s probably nothing.

It’s all in my head. It’s in my head in my head in my head.

“Willa?” Belle says. “How are you feeling right now? Experiencing any pain or headaches? Any déjà vu?”

“No,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “The déjà vu will happen later.”

“Later? Can you explain what you mean by that?”

“My friends are getting married today at a venue I’ve seen pictures of but have never been to. But it feels like I have. It’s like I’ve already lived this day. Twice. This is the third time I’m living this day.”

“Groundhog Day,” she says, still with that fucking smile.

“What?”

“Like the movie. Groundhog Day.”

“I’ve never seen it.”

“Really? It’s great. You should watch it. I love rom-coms.”

“You don’t say,” I mumble. “Um…”

“Sorry,” she says. “Bill Murray lives the same day over and over until he figures out that he’s in love with Rita.”

I stare at her.

“No unassuming Prince Charming at your friends’ wedding?” she asks, laughing. “Or Princess!”

Just a guy who’s not looking for anything serious and my ex-fiancé. “It’s not a rom-com. It’s not…it’s not happy. In my dream. In my head. Everyone dies.”

Finally, a frown. “I’m so sorry. I just got engaged so I’ve got romance on the brain. I’ve gotten us off topic. Are you experiencing increased stress around this wedding?”

“Congratulations,” I say flatly. “And, yeah. Increased stress. I started smoking, again. Cigarettes. I’ve also been taking melatonin and, um, gummies. THC gummies. Not irresponsibly, I don’t think. But it’s new to me. I’m worried this is something neurological.”

“I don’t see a primary care physician on your forms.”

“I don’t have one. That’s why I’m here.”

“Hmm,” she says. “And I’m seeing you didn’t fill out your family medical history?”

“My dad left when I was six and my mom…we, um, don’t have a relationship. I don’t have access to that information.”

It’s happening. I’m ruining her day. I’m breaking her spirit. I think this was my intention, but now I feel bad. Is guilt proof that I still have a soul?

I imagine guilt and anxiety as the guardrails on my life. Where would I be without them? In a fucking ditch somewhere.