“I can, and it will.” He kisses me one more time. “I’m sorry I’ve got to go.”
I sigh softly. “My alarm is set for five, I should probably just get up and go work out.”
Luca furrows his brow in disapproval. “It’s not even three yet, Abby. Turn that fucking alarm off and get some sleep.”
“I have to work out.” I sit up and shake my head, hoping to clear away the grogginess.
“Hey,” Luca says softly. “You got in a good workout already. Get some sleep.”
“Sleep is overrated.” I get out of bed and start looking for my clothes.
“Get back in bed. You don’t want to feel like a zombie all day at work.”
I’m used to feeling that way, but I don’t tell him that. But when he walks over and takes my panties from my hand, tossing them back to the floor, I don’t object.
“Get some sleep, okay? I’m going to when I get home.”
I sigh heavily. Maybe he’s right. I’m so tired.
“Okay,” I agree.
“I’ll lock up.”
As soon as I lie back down, my eyes drift closed.
“Hey, catch my game tomorrow night on TV if you want to see me win an epic bet.”
I lift my head from the pillow. “A bet.”
Luca chuckles. “Yeah, me and the other two guys on my offensive line made a bet about who’d score the most goals over ten consecutive games. Unless my buddy Victor scores three goals tomorrow night, which is really fucking unlikely, he’s gonna lose.”
I smile as my head drops back down to the pillow. “How much money will you win?”
“We’re getting something better than money. My other buddy Anton and I get to pick a tattoo out and Vic has to get it. He only gets to decide where it goes.”
Luca sounds so thrilled with the prospect that I can’t help laughing. “I’ll definitely try to watch history being made, then.”
“I had a great time tonight,” Luca says from the doorway. “Goodnight, Abby.”
“Me too. Goodnight.”
I hear the door open and close, and then I fumble in the darkness for my phone on the nightstand. Luca’s right—I need some sleep. There’s a minimum amount required to stay awake and think clearly in meetings, and I haven’t been getting it.
I switch off my alarm and give in to the pull of sleep. Missing one workout won’t kill me.* * *The rhythmic beep, beep, beep of a machine makes my stomach turn with dread. I’m running down a sterile, white hospital corridor, nowhere near a machine, but I hear it anyway. It’s always there.
I throw open a closed door, and see an empty bed. Running to the next door, I open it and see an elderly woman lying perfectly still.
A feeling of dead panic hits. I try to scream, but nothing comes out. The beeping gets fainter and my heart seizes with panic.
I have to get there. I have to.
If only I could ask for help, but there’s no one around. I’m like a ghost—invisible and helpless.
All I can do is open doors in search of the right one. My heart is in one of those rooms, and I have to find it in time. I have to say goodbye.
But each door opens to either an empty room or a stranger. I’m searching each room I come across, getting more and more agitated, as I look up and see an endless hallway of plain white doors that extends as far as the eye can see.
I reach for the next silver handle, try to turn it, and find it locked. Stunned, I step back for a second. What if this is the right room?
I try the handle again, shaking it, but it won’t budge. I scream in silence and then kick the door. I can’t move on, because this could be the room.
I have to get in there. The beep, beep, beep of the machine is getting louder and faster, like a ticking time bomb reminding me how urgent this is.
Please. Please help me.
I pound on the door with both hands, desperate to get in. Nothing helps, though. When I back up a few steps to throw my weight against the door in hopes of breaking it down, I look down the never-ending corridor and see a bright orange wave approaching.
Fire. It’s going to engulf me. I don’t care about that, though. I only care about getting into that room.
Beep, beep, beep.
The flames approach silently. The door won’t open. I’m going to fail again.I sit up in bed, woken by my own scream. I’m sweating and my heart beats uncontrollably.
I take a deep breath. I know this horrible, recurring nightmare well. It’s why I don’t sleep much. There’s no calming myself down. Instead, I bury my face in my hands and cry.
I sob over the unfairness of it all. Over why I’m still here. Over why the hurt never seems to heal.