WITH(OUT)

My eyes widened. But only as much as anyone’s eyes could upon first waking up.

A curtain must have been pulled back. Maybe two. The rays that found their way in through the large window on the left wall forced my eyes into a hard squint. My bottom eyelids pinched up by my cheek.

My ears had adjusted to the silence. A sound foreign to me. It went from eerie to tranquil, holding my quavering bones still.

And then the full focus of my eyes reeled in to capture my environment.

There was a light atmosphere in the room. One so positive, I would’ve sworn it should have been detrimental to my sanity—or lack thereof.

But it wasn’t.

It was strange to me. But I couldn’t help but to yearn, accepting it.

The sun blared in, illuminating the presence of a clean room. A room taken care of constantly. A room cherished.

It felt homey.

There were no heaps of clothes lined up against the left wall, piling into mountains that met the dresser.

And the dresser itself didn’t hold firearms, bullets, and mold.

Instead, there was a vanity. Untainted ivory white. Complete with a full, intact mirror and not just surviving shards of glass hanging to splintered pieces of wood.

Instead, a myriad of perfumes and makeup lined the surface. Spray bottles organized up by color and brushes by size.

I pulled my body up just a bit to sit up and immediately felt an unfathomable level of comfort. A full mattress with smooth, soft sheets under me. Warm, vast covers able to wrap around my feet and still reach six feet up to tuck under my chin.

I had never encountered such luxury and relief, and yet, it felt familiar to me.

Finally sitting upright, I yanked the sheets off of me. I was in nothing but boxer shorts and a tank top.

And my body was fine.

No four year old burnt skin on my left thigh from an attempted murder. No Braille-like blemishes on the back of my arms from numerous cigarettes that needed to be put out. No tenderness in my Achilles from taking a wooden bat to the ankle.

I felt perfect.

I looked again at the sheets I was holding up.

Teal.

A color I swore I detested. But somehow, in some weird way, it consoled me.

It was brighter than the colors I felt like I was used to. But even as my mind began to wander, I couldn’t peel my gaze off of it.

“Abel!”

It came from the other side of the wall and was followed by light footsteps.

I panicked.

Why did I want to answer to a name that wasn’t mine?

I wasn’t in my room.

Or was I?

I saw the shadow of a figure approaching the door. It was too late to run. I only had enough time to glance to the closet on my right and sweep my sight to the left at the locked window.

There was a hand on the handle on the other side of the door.

I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I was usually swift. Able to calculate and execute a decision in a split second with no warning.

But instead I sat on the bed. On the memory foam mattress. Under plush sheets. Neck propped up by feathered pillows.

And naked.

Finally, the wooden frame turned on its hinges.

And walking two silent steps in was a lady. A beautiful lady with short brown curls and heart-stopping cinnamon eyes. A simple, silver rope chain slithered down the slope of her neck and rested on her collarbone. A white gold butterfly pendant lulled above her chest.

She smiled softly. An expression so tender it made me forget my confusion. I no longer felt lost.

“Good. You’re finally awake.”

And she still looked happy to see me. Like I was meant to be in her life. Like she liked that I was in her life.

“Lindsay.”

I said the name, but couldn’t convince myself I wasn’t asking.

Her smile widened.

“Yes Abel?”

Her voice was flooding with admiration.

And her eyes. Those copper eyes piercing through my chest causing my pulse to want to both stop and speed up.

She crawled on the bed, nestling onto my chest. She left no space in between us. Her head on my chest and her legs entwined with mine.

Her curls blessed my atmosphere with lush vanilla and a hint of sandalwood.

I took the deepest inhale my lungs would permit and wrapped my arms around her.

She adjusted herself the slightest bit and exhaled comfortably.

And I didn’t move. For the next fifty-three minutes, I watched the steady rise and fall of her abdomen.

And when she was awake, and those eyes came up and met mine, I laced my fingers in with hers, grasping the tenderness of her soft palm.

At that point, I had completely forgotten that I was lost. All that mattered was that what I found would never suffer the same fate as whatever I was lost.

I wanted to be Abel.

I wanted to be Abel for Lindsay.

I squeezed her hand in mine.

And I squeezed.

And squeezed.

Squeezed so hard, I felt a burst.

BOOM!

I opened my eyes and nothing changed.

Black.

The stench of blood overpowered the mold and mildew. The mix excruciating to inhale.

It took a second for my eyes to adjust to the darkness.

And as it did, I started to recognize. I saw the emergence of a dresser in front of the bed. A pile of clothes to it’s left.

No…

My eyes acclimated with the low light levels and clarity brought sorrow.

On the dresser was a 22, a 9mm, and an AK, three magazines, eight clips, loose shotgun bullets, and glass pieces that littered the top.

No, no, no, no, no…

The bed under me creaked and my big toe got caught in a hole when I tried to readjust myself to a less uncomfortable position.

No! No!

My eyes darted left to the shattered, barred, and partially-cardboarded window.

There, my eyes focused in. In the middle of a 12 gauge shotgun hole in the cardboard was the prettiest thing in the scene.

The only pretty thing.

A butterfly whose wings were so white, the glare of the moon brought a dazzle to them.

Lindsay.

My mind went to her necklace. I remembered it.

I remembered it. But not as a dream. As a memory. She was real.

In some way.

Somehow.

I could still smell the sandalwood and vanilla emitting off her. I could still feel her warm breath pressing and retreating on my neck. And the way she made my soul want to cry out her name.

Whatever was happening, I needed to get back to being Abel.

I had been given answers and now I had questions.

And I genuinely believed that I could finally have something I so desperately wanted. All I needed to do was catch the butterfly.

I moved slow, freeing my big toe from the aggravating hold of the five-by-four “blanket”.

Timing. I didn’t have enough time to rip off the covers and dash. It would have plenty time to fly to its escape.

But just as I was about to make my lunge, my ear twitched.

I forgot about the insect and dove forward, hitting both the floor and dresser hard. Bullets rolled over the edge, raining metal down on me.

I reached above my own head, snatching up the Glock and took my stance.

Already cocked.

It was just past midnight so the darkness hid any implication of a shadow from under the door frame.

Safety off.

The door handle twisted and began to groan on its hinges.

Creak!

The door flew open and a man in full army gear burst in.

Instinct didn’t delay this time.

 “James—”

I fired twice.