Page 77 of From West, With Regret

The sign reading Albany.

The hands covered in dirt.

Someone’s voice telling me I’m alive.

Then another.

I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing down the sense of panictrying to take over. The feeling is similar to the one I got in the club last night when the stranger came up behind me.

It’s vile, and my stomach sours.

Make one peep out of that pretty little mouth, and I swear to God, I’ll slit your fucking throat right here.

My eyes snap open. I bend over, gasping for air, sputtering and coughing. My hand flies to my throat, and I swear I feel the sharp edge of cold metal. I run my fingers over my taut skin, but there’s nothing. No scar, no evidence of anything. My body wracks and spasms as I grip the edge of the tub with my other hand, struggling to breathe.

The water is freezing cold as it slides down my back. Though it could just be from the memory. The darkest memory I’ve yet to pull.

Panic builds inside me, and I second guess whether this is a good idea. Should I lean into the memories? Or is this a mistake? At this point, I’m not even sure I have a choice. Every single one comes without warning, happening when I least expect it.

The saying usually goes ‘the heart wants what the heart wants’, but for me, it’s my mind. My mind wants me to remember, and now that I’m slowly getting them back, I’m absolutely terrified down to my bones.

I shut the water off with shaking fingers and wrap a warm towel around me. Concentrating on my breathing, I force the darkness away, and focus on the good.

The light.

Meeting my sister.

My art.

West.

The feeling I had when I walked into Selene’s apartment slowly edges its way back in, and I’m thankful for the relief. Maybe the voice has something to do with the sign I envisioned last night when West and I were talking about Albany.

Quantum entanglement.

A tiny, barely-there smile finds the corners of my mouth. No, it must be coincidence that West is from Albany when I swear I’ve seen a wooden sign painted with the word Albany on it.

I get dressed under a haze of the memories I’ve conjured, and when I leave Selene’s apartment, I’m trying as hard as I can to leave the memory I experienced in the shower behind.

With my canvas bag of West’s clothes and Julianna’s ripped dress slung over my shoulder, I take the subway to the Upper West Side. To Charleigh’s flower shop. I’ve only ever been there a few times, but of those times, I’ve always enjoyed it.

The shop is small and intimate. Although I’ve never been to Paris, it reminds me of a flower shop you’d find there, covered from front to back with flourishing bouquets and plants. The scent when stepping through the wooden door is overwhelming, and one I welcome. It’s refreshing when coming from the streets of the city and people on the subway.

I find my sister finishing up with a customer. She hands the woman her freshly wrapped bouquet with a smile, and her eyes find mine.

“Oh, good. You got my note.” She sighs.

Clutching her flowers to her chest, the customer gives me a smile before leaving.

I stop at the counter and pass my sister her coffee.

“I didn’t think you had work today.”

“The other girl who works this shift got sick, and Charleigh was already scheduled to work at her second location.” She tucks her blonde hair behind her ear. Her large, gold earrings sway as she tips her head back, taking a sip of her triple espresso. Despite having to wake up early today, after a night like last night, she appears surprisingly restful.

“Thank you for bringing this.”

“You could have just sent me a text.” I giggle, setting my bag on the counter. “Risky leaving a note. You could have been waiting for me all day.”