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All her words are lies. I’ll never be like her.

Sitting up with a gasp, I take a deep breath. There’s no smoke. I’m home. My home.

I’m safe.

Standing, I stumble to the toilet. I wince at the harsh light before looking in the mirror.

My face is clear. No streaks.

No red. No black.

No shame. No tears.

Just me.

I exhale a sigh of relief and splash some cold water on my face before lifting a palm full of water from the tap to wet my parched mouth.

After I’m finished in the loo, I return to the couch where I chase my dream—the good one that came before her.

A man. His touch. A cloth. So gentle. I’m safe.

It was all just a dream.