My voice, coming from somewhere else.
"You've been dead for a long time."
"You just didn't know it."
I woke up screaming.
The sound tore out of my throat before I could stop it, raw and animal, the scream of something that had been trapped for too long. My hands were clutching the blanket, twisting the fabric, pulling it tight around my shoulders like a shield.
The back room.
The couch.
The bar.
Matt.
He was there. Standing in the doorway, his expression careful, his hands loose at his sides.
"Bunny."
His voice was calm.
"Bunny, you're safe. You're in the back room. You're safe."
"I killed her."
The words came out before I could stop them.
"I killed her, and I don't remember, and she said he was waiting, and now she's dead, and I don't—"
"Breathe."
He crossed the room and knelt in front of me. Not touching. Just present.
"Breathe, Bunny. In through your nose. Out through your mouth. Slow."
"I can't—"
"Yes, you can. You're doing it right now. Just keep going."
I breathed. In through my nose. Out through my mouth. The air was warm and smelled like coffee and something else—something clean, something that reminded me of soap.
"That's it. Keep going."
I breathed until the screaming stopped. Until the shaking stopped. Until my hands unclenched from the blanket and my heart stopped trying to escape my chest.
"Better?"
"A little."
"Good."
He stood up and walked to the kitchenette. I heard water running, a kettle being filled, the click of a stove being lit.
"Tea. Chamomile. It'll help you sleep."
"I don't want to sleep."
