Good Morning

Wake Up

When she wakes up, it takes her a second to realize that she isn't on the Bounty, and, even though the room is pitch-dark, the walls are wrong. They smell like fresh paint. A fan is whirring somewhere behind her, and the air is heavy and humid. There are no windows.

A small, cold, hard object is pressing uncomfortably into the center of her chest, and she sits up, clutching it and squinting down at it.

It is, in fact, a coin, and, judging by the date on it, it is over a hundred years old.

It takes a second for her to understand. She stares down at the coin, and, when the meaning catches up to her, her shoulders slump.

This isn't real. None of this is.

It hurts less than she thought it would, but then, she isn't sure that it's sinking in. The world is a blurry, distant place right now.

Her body feels strange, like her joints are all the wrong size, and, even though the room isn't that hot, she is sweating, and her clothes are sticking to her body in the most uncomfortable places.

She turns the coin over in her palm. This isn't the first time that she's done this. She remembers now. She has the vague sense that she's been here a couple of times before.

Something in her head is nagging at her, something like the idea that she doesn't belong here.

But the bed is warm and the sheets are soft, and her body is heavy and numb. She closes her eyes.

Maybe she can just stay a little longer.

The door swings open with a loud clang, and Jay sticks his head into the room, his eyes wild and his hair sticking up all over the place.

"Hey, you're up!" he chirps, and he bounds over to her. She can hear the jangling of the buckles on his jacket, and his feet hit the ground with heavy thuds.

She feels a sudden and overwhelming urge to grab his face and pull him down to her, to kiss him, hard.

She doesn't, but her body tenses, and her jaw feels weird, like it's straining.

Jay comes up next to her, and his hands close around her shoulder. She is suddenly and viscerally aware of how close he is. His face is very, very close. She can see the individual hairs in his stubble, and she can feel his breath on her neck.

"Morning, sleepyhead," he says, and the word sounds strange. She can't tell why.

Jay leans in closer. He kisses her.

Her brain doesn't catch up until his lips are already against hers.

For a split second, her head is spinning and she doesn't know where she is. Her skin is crawling, and she can feel the hair on her arms standing on end. Her fingers twitch.

Jay pulls away, and she is suddenly filled with a horrible, sickening, burning regret.

She doesn't want him to go.

Jay pulls his arm back, and the loss of the heat and pressure on her shoulder is so profound that she almost gasps.

He reaches behind his back and brings his hand around. There is something clutched in his fist, and he drops it into her lap.

She stares down at the object. It is a coin, and, judging by the date, it is over a hundred years old.

Not real.

The words come to her from a distance.

She is not here. This isn't happening.

Jay is standing in front of her. He looks sad.