Page 24 of What You Left Me

She does her best, bouncing around as many people as she can. A few heads go under as she catches them with her gazelle glide. Some people grab at her ankles out of spite. Most scream obscenities at her.

She is ruining the party.

The edge of the pool gets farther away with every hop she makes toward it. She stops, stranded in an impossible middle. Her feet burn. The pain is immense, but to her, it’s better than being chastised. There’s no room in her mind to hide the hurtful words. Make them not matter. She begins to cry, unable to find a solution.

“Petra!” a voice calls out.

She scans for the source, examining the faces of countless strangers half-submerged in a pool she identifies as Daniel’s, though most aspects are different. It’s anideaof Daniel’s pool, more of a feeling than an actual thing.

“Please,” the voice says. “Over here.”

She finds the source.

Martin.

Some features are correct. His height, as it would be in four feet of water. The neat line of a fresh haircut traced into his sunburned neck. His long eyelashes. Everything else Petra pulls from other places. A face that can’t seem to be ignored these days, some Ryan Hales pops up in Martin’s jaw and eyebrows. Cameron’s freckles. The lips of an actor she saw in a commercial playing on repeat in the hospital. All of it pasted together to complete her version of Martin.

She sprints over, ignoring the complaints and slaps along the way. When she reaches him, she kneels. Her feet are damaged beyond repair, and her shins and knees begin to burn, too, flesh crackling under the invisible flames.

“I’m stuck,” Martin says.

“So am I,” she answers, using a voice so small it barely registers. Pain is diminishing her ability to speak.

“No. I’mstuck.”

She leans back, puzzled.

“I can’t wake up,” he adds.

The burning intensifies. Petra fights to find the words she needs. “Of course not,” she says. “You’re in my dream.”

Martin leans back as if he’s lost his balance.

Staying in one place for this long has made the pain unbearable. Petra grabs at her throat, finding emptiness where sound should come out. She’s wants to say more, but she can’t. Everything hurts too much.

Martin tries to reach for her. His hand gets so close. An inch away. “I’m all right,” she mumbles, seeing his outstretched fingers through the slits in her own. “You’re the one everyone should be worried about.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your accident,” she whispers.

“Petra!” she hears from someplace outside this pool. “Wake up!”

She begins to shake.

12

“Petra! Wake up! I need you to…help me put on some aloe in the bathroom,” Cameron says, shaking me. Her figure blocks out the sun. She tugs at my arm until I stand to shake off my drowsiness.

I must’ve dozed off.

“Oh,” I say in reaction to Turrey lying on his stomach next to me. His shirt is now a pillow, leaving his back fully exposed.

“Yeah,” Cameron answers.

“Where is everybody?”

“Putting on aloe. Come on.”