I roll over on my back, but I miss the feel of the carpet so I roll over again. I’m a few feet away from my mom now, after all the rolling. I’m back to feeling the carpet, this time with my cheek.
“It’s lovely,” I tell her.
“Can you come back to the couch?” she asks, gently.
Experimentally I make the attempt, pushing myself up, but my arms don’t feel terribly strong while my body feels heavier than a body has a right to.
“How do I walk every day?”
My mom blinks, eyes wide in confusion. “What?”
“My body is so heavy, how do I walk every day? It’s so heavy. I just…” I trail off, losing interest in what I was saying, and rest my cheek against the carpet.
My mother finally moves off the couch and joins me on the floor. She stays up on her knees, a hand tentatively reaching out to rub my back.
I sigh, content. That feels so nice.
“How are you feeling?” she asks me.
“Everything is lovely,” I tell her with another dreamy sigh.
The carpet is so clean. I wonder if anyone ever even comes in this room. Maybe she just vacuums a lot.
Or there’s probably a maid. Maybe? I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, but the carpet is so soft and my face is buried in it again.
“Honey, I need to ask you a few things. Is that okay?”
“Mm hmm,” I murmur, petting the carpet.
“Annabelle, honey, pay attention,” she says.
“I am,” I insist, glancing up at her.
“Okay.” She pauses, looking… I don’t know. Something. Then she says, “Do you remember the man you’ve been… involved with?”
I’ve turned myself around so I can see under the couch, and I see something under there! Crawling forward on my belly, I reach underneath and fish around. It’s clean so I probably don’t have to worry about touching anything yucky.
“Annabelle.”
A hand is on my shoulder and I roll over on my back, folding my hands across my belly. “Remember when Daddy used to take me to the—”
“Annabelle, I need you to focus,” she says, and I realize she’s… irritated? Have I done something wrong?
“The man. There’s a man, the one who beat up Paul.”
Oh yeah! I wrinkle my nose up, but without much censure. “Paul. Paul isn’t nice.”
“Well…”
“Or interesting. Or smart. Poor Paul.”
“Annabelle, do you remember a man attacking Paul?”
I frown lightly, reviewing my memory. “Oh, yes! Thor,” I say with a dreamy grin.
“Thor?” she asks, alert. “His name is Thor?”
I giggle. “Yeah. He’s a superhero. He’s really sexy.”