- 1.
r
abstain from love
Three months after we broke up, my ex, Ethan,
called. “The bar’s closing, Nancy. Why aren’t
you here to take me home?”
My eyes instantly welled up. I swallowed, my
voice a shaky whisper, “Where are you?”
A burst of laughter erupted from the phone. He
gasped between chuckles, “You’re so gullible!
I’m playing Truth or Dare!”
Tears spilled over. “You can call me anything,
Garrett. Just come home with me.”
The other end went silent.
“Who the hell is Garrett?”
Three months after the breakup, my obsession
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resurfaced. The recurring dream, the one I hadn’t had in a while, came back to haunt me.
In it, a dark, handsome man made love to me, a gun pressed against my waist. He whispered his love, his eyes red, then pulled the trigger. The gun clicked, empty. But my knife, swift and sure, sliced across his throat. He died with a triumphant smile, asking me to take him home.
I woke up with a crushing grief, the phantom pain of loss lingering. This dream had tortured me for three years. The heartbreak felt real, even after waking.
I’d seen therapists. I told them I’d fallen in love
with a man in my dreams, a man named
Garrett. Hypnosis and sleeping pills failed. The
doctor suggested a real relationship, hoping for
a transfer of affection. If not, maybe it would
help me “detox.”
That’s when Ethan walked into my life. He was
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the spitting image of the man in my dreams.
نه
For a while, I believed he was Garrett. Same
eyes, same voice, same careless smirk. He was
drunk, leaning against the wall in a bar, tugging
on my shirt. “Can you take me home?” he’d
slurred.
In that moment, it felt like destiny. I took him
home, watched over him all night. When he
woke up, met my sad gaze, he laughed.
“So, nothing happened? Kinda bummed,” he
said, glancing at my neckline. “Maybe next time
wear something lower cut, I might not fall
asleep so fast.”
Despite his arrogance, the sense of fate kept
me with him. I fell hard, and fast. I’d ask him
anxiously if he’d leave me, especially during
blood–red sunsets. I’d wake up in the middle of
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the night, touching his throat, relieved to find it unmarked.
I poured all the love and guilt I felt for dream- Garrett onto Ethan. I covered for his mistakes, nursed him through a hospital stay, terrified he’d vanish like he did in my dreams.
Sometimes, he’d stare at me, murmuring about how he wished he’d met me sooner. I didn’t
understand what he meant until that Valentine’s
Day.
- 3.
Ethan, usually low–key, planned a grand, public date. He arrived at the fancy restaurant with flowers, his lazy swagger and intense gaze attracting stares and even a few sneaky photos.
He winked at one woman. “Make sure I look
good!” he called, then leaned in and kissed me, long and deep.
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I thought he was finally ready to be serious. But
after the show, he seemed distracted, barely
responding to my excited chatter, constantly
checking his phone.
A call from “A” straightened his posture. He
glanced at the window. I told him to go if he
needed to, but he hung up, flashing me a
charming smile. “You’re more important,” he
said, picking up a piece of garnish and feeding
it to me. He probably didn’t realize it was a
decorative lettuce leaf. Then he wiped my clean
mouth with a napkin.
A bad feeling crept in. Sure enough, his phone
started buzzing incessantly. He looked
flustered, then made a show of reluctantly
saying he had to leave for work. I smiled and
told him to go. He hesitated, gave me a strange
look, then practically ran out.
I followed. Downstairs, a beautiful woman stood
across the street, where she’d have a perfect
