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A hot as hell man walks in through my second story balcony. Strolls through my apartment with a confidence I can only dream of having. Flashes me a glimpse of his gun. Then settles in to eat my popcorn. And… is he humming? Sweet Mother Mary, he’s humming.
“I’m not staying,” he mutters it this time. He sounds so resigned, even as he does the opposite of what he just said, and I almost laugh. Nero drops onto his back, shifting the pillow, lifting his head and smacking it back down against the lumpy cotton, trying to get comfortable. With one final sigh, he stretches his arm out in my direction. “Come fucking cuddle with me.”
It’s been so long since I’ve dreamed, I’m not used to the jarring feeling of being stuck between realities. When the dream is so fresh it feels like a memory. Feels so damn real. Hell, it looked so damn real.
“If you must know, mother, I have to go to brunch with Aspen and her husband after this. And I figured there’s a chance I won’t have time to go home between killing a guy and French Toast.”
“I’m real, Sweet Girl.”
I place a hand on my stomach, feeling the softness, and for the first time when thinking about my body, I smile.
This is the body of someone who didn’t starve. This is the body that walked me out of hell to forge a life from nothing. This is the body that left the patio door open so we could enjoy the stormy fall air while watching our favorite movie. This is the body that led me to Nero.
