THE DAY PASSES WITH INCREASING QUIET. The winds peter out, the hard slap of waves against rocks slows, and my mind easily slips into nothingness. I might just stay in this bed forever. The only thing keeping me from totally vanishing is that my wrist is inexplicably burning under my bracelet, and it’s as if the heat is trying to tell me that I’m alive and that I’m not allowed to disappear—or die. I won’t kill myself. No matter how delusional and crazy and miserable I get, I won’t. I twist it and scratch beneath the leather, irked by the feel, yet I won’t take it off.
I will myself to ignore it and hide under the comforter, so I can black out the world. Sleep is impossible, but I can easily stay in this hypnotic zone.
I try to make Sam appear, to resurrect what my imagination created, but no matter how hard I try, he is frustratingly elusive. After hours of focusing on him, on working my mind to rebuild the one I love, I’ve got nothing to show for it.
Finally, when I’ve had enough, my anger and pain reach a limit that propels me out of bed. I grab fistfuls of sheets and tear them off, howling and crying in pain, and then I ball them into a messy pile. I shove the mattress half off the frame and throw pillows across the room.
Sunrise starts to show through the French doors, and I drastically resent the onset of light. Without thinking, I take a vase from the dresser and hurl it through the glass as though that could make the sun retreat. Fresh post-storm air fills the room, but I don’t feel it on my skin.
I catch sight of myself in the dresser mirror, the one where I watched while the nonexistent Sam made love to me. My chest is heaving, my eyes are bloodshot, and my hair is plastered to my head with sweat. Just as I’m about to throw a heavy antique clock at my reflection, I hear a sound on the deck.
Or I think I do. Maybe I’m just making it up.
But the glass from the shattered door makes a distinctive noise under footsteps.
“Stella.”
Blankly, I stare at the person in front of me. I should be elated, but I can’t stop shaking my head. Sam is wearing the same sweatpants that he had on when he died. But there are no gunshot wounds, no blood, not even any scars. There’s no indication thatanythinghappened. He’s whole. He’s perfect. This vision cannot be trusted because I don’t know if I can make it last.
I look at Sam and wait for him to disappear before my eyes.
Instead, he steps through the doorframe, sidestepping the jagged shards of glass clinging to the wood. “Stella,” he says again.
Now, I turn to the mirror and send the clock in my hand smack into the image of my head. Fragments of me fall to the floor.
I look back at Sam. “You’re not really here. I know that. But come in anyway.”
“I am here. And I’m going to explain.”
“It’s okay,” I say calmly. “Losing my mind means that I don’t need things explained to me. I can just roll with it. As far as hallucinations go, you’re a pretty good one. So, come on in, and let’s see what my fucked-up head does with you next.”
“You’re not crazy, Stell. I really am alive.”
“No, you’re not. You never were.” When I take a step, I feel something sharp. It takes a moment, but I look down as I lift my foot.
The keys to Sam’s truck. They can’t be real, and to prove it, I slam my foot down on them. But I cry out because the pain shooting through me certainly seems to be real enough.
Sam rushes forward and grabs my arm to prevent me from stomping my foot again. “Stop, stop.”
I stare at the floor. My voice sounds far away as I talk, “If your keys are real, then you are real. But you also aren’t. It seems that I’ve concocted keys, too. So interesting.” I sigh. “I can’t quite figure this all out.”
“Oh God.” His hands go to my wrists, and he lifts them to his face. “Stella, look at me, touch me. I am real. You didn’t make anything up.”
His voice is so kind, so sweet, but my mind must be doing that. He moves my hands over his face, down to his shoulders. I know every inch of his body, and feeling it again breaks my heart.
I flash to seeing him in the moonlight—shirtless, muscular, and perfect—as he showed me how to trust in him and in myself while he made love to me.
“I know this doesn’t make sense to you right now, but I’m going to tell you everything. Please stay with me. Please don’t disappear.”
Suddenly, he takes me in his arms and tightly holds me. My arms stay at my sides, listlessness and exhaustion winning out over everything. I’m having a weird fantasy. Then, his arms squeeze me hard.
“You died in my arms,” I murmur. “There was lots of blood, lots of screaming. Well,Iwas screaming. You were rather calm. And now, you’re alive. So, no, none of that is real. It’s very simple. But I can pretend.”
Sam pulls back and takes my face in his hands. His eyes search mine, clearly trying to assess how far off the deep end I’ve jumped. I could save him the time and tell him that there’s no hope for me, but it seems like a lot of effort.
“I did die,” he says. “You’re right. Costa shot me. Twice. And I told you to trust me, that it would be okay. Remember?”
I nod. “I remember that.”
