Then it comes back.
The room. The window. The TV.
Callum's house.
I force myself to breathe.
In through the nose. Hold. Out through the mouth.
The way I used to in the ritual house before it all started.
My heartbeat slows and my vision clears.
I'm locked in, but I'm not tied down.
That's something.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and sit there for a moment, staring at the floor.
I stand and stretch, my joints popping. I look around the room, and that's when I notice them.
Bags on the floor.
Three or four of them. Large and sturdy designer-store type bags with thick rope handles.
They were definitely not here last night.
My stomach drops. Fear first, always fear first.
For a moment I don't move. I just stare, waiting for the punchline. Waiting for whatever trap this is supposed to be. Good things don't just appear. Good things always have a cost.
But nothing happens, so I take one step.
Then another.
The first bag rustles as I nudge it gently with my toes, testing it like it might bite. I crouch down and peek inside.
Clothes.
A whole stack of folded blouses, linen pants, and cozy pajama. A thick cashmere sweater and even some cozy wool socks. I smile when I see these. All of the items are new, soft, and rich-looking.
A far cry from the thrift-store finds and clearance-rack items I'd usually have that fall apart after a wash or two.
I reach for the next bag.
More tops, a few skirts, and some beautiful dresses.
The third bag has all kinds of shoes, ranging from tennis shoes to boots and finally high heels.
This can't all be for me.
The fourth bag is smaller. I open it.
Toiletries.
A toothbrush still in its package. Toothpaste. Face wash. Lotion. A hairbrush. Hair ties.
I sit back on my heels, staring at the items spread across the floor.
