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I’m about to spew out some bullshit excuses when she throws a gloved hand up. “Don’t even start with me. Where do you expect me to sleep for the next four nights?”

I point at the air mattress. “We can’t just share that?”

She rolls her eyes at me, then grabs my hand. “Come on. We’re going shopping.”

I don’t move. “Liz, it’s Thanksgiving day. Nothing’s open.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of Black Friday sales? I’ll bet tons of places are open today.”

The next week, I wobble into my newly furnished penthouse like I’m on a swaying ship. One hand clutches a paper bag, concealing the bottle I’m guzzling. My other hand steadies me against the wall as I kick off my shoes. I wave a hand at the door, and it slams shut behind me.

I take another swig as I half run, half fall into my bedroom. From under the bed, I drag out the cardboard box my silverware set came in. From it, I pull out my syringe and a little jar.

Usually, one dose will put me out for two days. Two days hasn’t been long enough. Every time I wake up, I still wish I hadn’t. Let’s see what a dose and a half can do.

A minute after the liquid enters my bloodstream, my vision blurs and my body goes tingly again. I shove all my supplies back into the silverware box and re-hide it under the bed. Then I climb onto the mattress and lie back to wait for that euphoric feeling to take over.

Once my body finally relaxes and my mind numbs, I close my eyes and bask in the feeling of floating on a cloud.

What’s she doing right now? Does she ever think of me?

Probably not as much as I think of her. Probably not as fondly either.

If she thinks of me, she probably thinks about how scared she was when she woke up and found me in her bed.

If I could, I’d turn back time to the moment I saw that recognition in her eyes.

I’d figure out how it happened and make sure it stayed that way.

Fuck, I’m thirsty. I should get some water.

I pry my eyes open, then slap my palm over my face. It’s so bright in here. Blindingly bright. Where did all this light come from? Did I somehow get transported next to the sun?

My skin tingles, but instead of tingling inside my body, it’s tingling outside my body.

I remove my hand from my face to find an army of little cockroaches no bigger than a thumbtack crawling up my shoulder and over my chest. I swat at them, but they don’t go away.

It’s as if my hand goes straight through them.

The little bugs continue crawling over me in a single-file line as if marching to the beat of a drum.

Once they reach my other shoulder, they crawl over the bed, then over someone’s hand.

I sit up with a jolt. A gorgeous woman has appeared on my sheets. “Arella?”

She’s lying on the pillow next to mine, smiling up at me the sweet way she used to.

I gape at her. “What are you doing here?”

She doesn’t answer me. Instead, she continues to lie there as the tiny cockroaches crawl over her the way they just did on me. In a single line, they start at one of her shoulders, then march across her chest until they reach the other.

I try to swat the bugs off her, but all my hand catches is air. Why isn’t she reacting to them? If she’s afraid of spiders, I’d assume she’s afraid of tiny roaches too. Also, why did my hand go straight through her body?

“You’re not really here, are you?”

Without a word, Arella pats the empty space next to her and gestures for me to lie back down. I do, never taking my eyes off her.

In silence, she caresses the side of my head, around my ear, then down my neck. I close my eyes and melt into the feel of her touch. Even if it’s not real, it feels real, and that’s all that matters.

I wake with a jolt. I’m nauseous as I trudge into the bathroom. When I come back out, my phone tells me three days have passed. Three whole days of feeling nothing. What a treat! And that was after I got to see my girl again. Now that was a treat.

I remember most of it. The whole time, she just caressed me.

She never said anything. She never left me either.

She just lay there, drawing figure eights over my abs.

I haven’t been that happy since... I can’t remember.

Wait, actually, I do remember. It was when she looked up at me like she knew me.

I can’t wait to see her again. But first, I need to get something to eat, then I have an errand to run. After all that, I plan to come right back here so I can see my girl.

Since I’ve got a case of the munchies, it doesn’t take me long to inhale the sandwich and bag of chips I get from a little restaurant down the street.

Once my stomach is no longer growling, I head into a souvenir shop to look for a postcard. Hallucinating Arella made me realize I never did the last thing she asked of me.

“Will you send me a postcard from wherever you end up?”

I guess since I have a place in New York now, this qualifies as the place I ended up.

I must stare at the spinning rack of postcards for too long, because a young male clerk comes up behind me and asks, “You need help pickin’ one out?”

My problem is when she sees this in her mailbox, I want her to think, The man who sent me this postcard is the man I’m supposed to be with, instead of the fuckwad I’m currently with. Sadly, none of these generic pictures of the New York City skyline or the Statue of Liberty say that.

“Sir?”

I snap out of my thoughts. “Um, I can’t decide. Could I just get one of each?”

“Sure.” With a smile, the clerk plucks one of each postcard off the rack.

Back in my quiet apartment, I sit at my kitchen counter with my stack of postcards and a souvenir pen.

I flip through the postcards for almost twenty minutes before deciding on the one that reads, Greetings from New York City .

It features some artwork of the city’s skyline and the iconic statue.

No, it doesn’t say, Please come back to me , but it’s colorful and bright, and Arella likes that shit.

I stare at the back of the card for almost an hour before I write.

Arella,

I ended up in New York City. It’s busy here, and I think you’d like the beautiful view from my apartment. Its beauty reminds me of you. Hope you’re doing well.

—Trey

I lean back in my barstool to read it. On my third pass, I shout the F word to my bare walls. I wrote her name as Arella without even thinking about it. She’s going to get this in the mail and toss it straight into the trash.

I draw a big X through my note, then grab another postcard.

Ari,

I ended up in New York City. It’s busy here, and I think you’d like the beautiful view from my apartment. Its beauty reminds me of you. Hope you’re doing well.

—Trey

I sit back to read it over, then draw a big X through my words again. I can’t tell her that the beautiful view reminds me of her. That sounds too forward. She’ll think I’m still obsessed with her. I mean, I am, but I don’t want her to know that.

With a long sigh and another postcard, I try again.

Ari,

I ended up in New York City. It’s busy here. Hope you’re doing well.

—Trey

No, no, no. I can’t sign my name! What was I thinking? What if her boyfr—no. What if Caleb sees this before she does and trashes it once he knows it’s from me? I’ve gotta keep my name off it. She’ll know who it’s from.

Ari,

I ended up in New York City. Hope you’re doing well.

There. That’s good, right?

I read it again, then scowl at the postcard. It’s so lame. Nothing about this screams, I love you . Most of all, it doesn’t scream, I miss you so much, it hurts .