Page 73 of Kiss Slay Replay

Or on a beach. I don’t know. How can you tell if you’re in a cage or outside it, when you’re pressed up against the bars?

“I’m sorry. I am stressed,” I tell her. “But I don’t think it’s just stress. Whatever’s happening, it’s so vivid and unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. It’s scary.”

“I understand. So, I would suggest Advil for the headaches, and a lot of water. No more supplements. Sounds like those might either be the cause or at the very least exacerbating the issue. And what I’m going to do is refer you to a neurologist. Get you checked out.”

“All right. Thank you,” I say, peeking at my phone for the time. “How long will that take? I need to leave for the wedding soon.”

“You’ll have to call their office to make an appointment. Might take a couple of weeks to get you in.”

“A couple weeks? I don’t have a couple weeks. It’s tonight. It’s today. It’s…it’s urgent. That’s why I’m here. At urgent care. I need care urgently.”

She smiles again, this time without teeth. “If you feel what you’re experiencing is a medical emergency, I recommend a trip to the emergency room. I could write you a prescription or advise lab work, but it seems like your concerns are for an underlying neurological issue or acute stress. Do you have a history of anxiety attacks?”

“Not attacks, no.”

“Hmm,” she says. “Willa, I’m hesitant to prescribe antianxiety medication because you don’t have a primary care physician to monitor the dosage, or any potential side effects.”

“It’s fine.” I hop off the exam table, ripping the paper. “This was a bad idea. Waste of time.”

Tick, tock.

“I’m sorry. It’s obviously just…stress. Never mind. Never mind,” I say, bolting out the door. I’m guessing Belle thinks I was just trying to get a script for Xanax. If I was attempting to manipulate her for drugs, I’d like to think I’d be more calculated than admitting I suspect I’m living the same day on repeat.

It’s lucky she didn’t determine that I need immediate psychiatric help. There are other ways that could have gone. Leaving with nothing but a fifty-dollar co-pay is frustrating, but not the worst-case scenario.

I’m learning a whole lot about worst-case scenarios.

I’m not particularly eager to learn more, but what am I going to do? Skip the wedding? Abandon my friends because I’m having the weirdest nervous breakdown imaginable?

And if the nightmare is real, I should be there to at least try to save them.

Who knows. Maybe third time’s the charm.

2

Third time won’t be the charm. I know it. I’ve known it since I left the apartment—scrambling late. I’ve felt it percolating in my gut this entire drive. This sense of formidable, crushing, all-consuming dread.

Maybe I should have asked more questions at urgent care. Maybe I should have gone to the emergency room instead. Maybe if I wake up again tomorrow and it’s today, that’s what I’ll do. But if it’s today four days in a row, then I think I’m for sure in a time loop, right? And I doubt anyone at the ER can help me with that. Who would I even go to? A physicist? Jeff from Medium? There’s no logic to cling to. I can’t wrap my head around what’s happening. My brain hurts. I’m sweating. I roll down the windows and inhale, anticipating fresh air. Instead, I catch a whiff of rot. Roadkill.

I put the windows up and blast the AC.

I don’t need GPS to get me to the Lakeside at Wild Heart Acres. I have the route memorized. I turn onto the dirt road, pull up the slight hill, take a right into the small gravel parking lot. I don’t park next to Evan’s Civic because that spot is taken. Last time, I thought the small deviations I made would save me from suffering the same fate. Maybe they did, in a way, but only by dooming me to a worse one.

I park. Lean my head back against the seat and take a minute to compose myself. It’s hard to calm down in a place where you died. Horrifically. Twice.

I check my mirrors, anticipating the Eyeball Man waving from the edge of the woods, or a raven flying low. A small bird flitters past the windshield and I panic, accidentally hit the horn as I flail around in the driver’s seat, pull my knees in and shield my face with my hands.

“Fuck this,” I say, getting out of the car. I pop the trunk and by some miracle, I’m now strong enough to lift my suitcase out no problem. It’s either adrenaline or I forgot to pack some key items. I guess I’ll find out soon enough.

I start up the path, dragging my suitcase behind me. I’m late. It’s almost four o’clock, so I’ll have about an hour to shower, dry my hair, get ready. Not enough time.

Guarantee this will be the one that sticks. The timeline I look the worst in. What greater nightmare is there than looking like shit in front of your ex?

“Willa!” It’s Steph. She steps out of her cabin onto the porch, all dressed up in her lavender gown, birdcage veil, her makeup perfect, glittering like a fairy princess. “I was just going to drop by the friend cabin to say hi.”

I abandon my suitcase and run up to hug her. “It’s probably chaos. Luke tossing around canned cocktails. Cassie griping. Evan helping Wyatt with his tie.”

Steph giggles. “Oh gosh. You’re right. I’m so happy you’re here!”