It can't be.
There's a message on my phone, a new text from Luke.
I love you. I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you.
My mouth is dry. My knees are weak. I slump to the ground and pull my legs into my chest.
This can't be like before. It can't be anything like before.
***
The rest of the day goes more smoothly. I move through my usual routine--coffee, breakfast, TV, gym, shower, work--pushing any doubts as far down as they will go.
I'm not the same stupid girl I was a year ago. I'm not about to let these nagging thoughts ruin what I have with Luke. He acts as if he's got all the patience in the world, but there's something in the way he sighs, in how dull his eyes seem when I dodge questions with a "can we talk about this later."
He's losing patience with me. I can feel it.
So, instead of ignoring his text, I respond with a "me too."
Yeah, that's going to fix everything.
The theater is almost empty when I arrive. I'm early. Very early. I lock myself in my dressing room and bury myself in my Kindle. A breezy chick lit should get my mind off this. Should convince me that there's nothing to be worried about.
After all, I already have everything I could want. I have a career. I have a fiancé. I even have a great fucking shoe collection.
My life is perfect. It should feel perfect.
But my heart is pounding in my chest. My lungs are tight, refusing to expand to make way for air.
I will myself to relax. There's only an hour until my performance. Only one hour I have to get through until I'm someone else, somewhere else.
Until I'm anything except Alyssa.
I turn off my phone and collapse on the couch. My eyes drift closed. Someone will make me up when they arrive. Knock on my door. Something to make sure I don't sleep through my damn performance.
My muscles start to relax. Nothing matters except for the next few hours. Get through this performance, go home, and fall apart in my room, alone.
Yes. Just a few minutes without consciousness to reset everything. A few minutes and I'll be okay.
Just... a... few... minutes.
"Alyssa!"
Fuck, not again.
I jerk upright, peeling my eyes open. It's okay. I'm at the theater. That must be the hair and makeup girl.
There's no more time for this. Alyssa Summers, insecure mess, needs to step aside to make room for Alyssa Summers, Broadway actor. Because there is absolutely no room for any of this in the next few hours. No room for anything except Blanche fucking DuBois.
***
After the final curtain call, I retreat to my dressing room. It's a soft yellow from the lights on the vanity. It's not like the dream. It's a yellow-white instead of a yellow-black, but it's unsettling all the same.
I take off my makeup, change into my street clothes, and fish my engagement ring out of my purse. I'm leaving work. It's time to step back into my normal role.
I love Luke. I really do. There's no doubt in my damn mind that I love him. But my skin is crawling and my chest is heavy and I'm certain my next breath will do nothing to bring oxygen into my body.
This is good. This is great. No, it's amazing. It's everything I should want.