her girlfriend.

forty-three

"I hope that movie gets the worst reviews ever and loses all the profits and all the actors and shit, I hope they get attacked by a clown."

If you couldn't tell by that sentence, my sleep last night didn't go so well. Yep, I had a nightmare. And it was a bad one.

Woke up screaming and crying. And was even hitting myself like I used to do when I was in my early teens. It was that bad.

And I can tell that it scared Sabrina a little bit, as expected. I remember how scared my mom was when I first had one of those nightmares.

I'm relatively ok now, though. Just having my girlfriend wash my tear-stained face with a cold facecloth.

"You'll be ok," her voice is shaky and her hands almost shaking too, "I promise that I'll never let that happen to you again."

"It's not your fault," I sniffle, "Please don't think that. It's the stupid movies fault."

Sabrina can still find blame in that. "I'm the one who took you to the fucking movie, River. I should've listened to you."

"Stop. Please." I sit down on the edge of the bathtub and place my hands on her hips, "I promise it's not your fault."

All she does is stare down into my green eyes with her sparkling blue ones. Just breathing and not doing anything else.

Thinking, maybe. Definitely. Not sure what she's thinking about but I like this moment.

It gets even better when she sits down on my legs, straddling me. In the least sexual way that she ever could.

And hugs me. So tight and so close. It's exactly what I needed after I had a scary nightmare like the one I just had.

If I wasn't already, I'm as calm as I can possibly be after a having a nightmare like that because of this hug.

Amazing what a simple hug can do from the person you love most in the world. It can change everything. I mean it.

"Let's just not think about it, ok?" Sabrina does have to pull away but her hands remain on my face, "I'm gonna make us some nice breakfast."

"You cooking might not be the best idea." I try to sound as playful as I can and it gets us both to smile, at least.

"Yeah, you're right," she nods in agreement, tucking a loose curl that didn't make it up into my bun behind my ear, "Cake for breakfast?"

Laughing, I just shake my head. "No more cake. I'm gonna make us breakfast, ok? It'll help take my mind off things too."

Once I tell her that I think it might help me, she's all for it. Makes me feel even more loved. Extra loved.

•••

It actually worked. Cooking just simple breakfast foods like my dad taught me to a long time ago worked.

I'm not feeling as scared and anxious or on-edge. I'm not fully ok, either, but hey, I'm doing fine. And I'll take that any day.

Let's just hope that the food is fine, at least edible. It's been about eleven years since my dad taught me cooking skills. Long ass time.

"Smells really good, babe," she hums out her sweet lips from her spot at the kitchen island behind me, "My woman is a chef!"