Twenty-six London, 2017 I’m woken by a sound I can’t translate. I sit up in the bed, coated in my own sweat. I’m panting and shaking and crying because I know that what I have just experienced was a dream of a memory, rather than a memory of a dream. I remember how badly Ben hurt me the last time I saw him. I remember how he followed me back from the restaurant after I said I wanted a divorce, kicked the bedroom door open, and did what he did. I didn’t even ask him to stop. I think on some level, I thought I deserved it. We marry our own reflections; someone who is the opposite of ourselves,
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