Free Love Lies Bleeding by Meghan Ciana Doidge Page B

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    •••••••••
    Pamela looked into the bedroom just down from the kitchen. A double bed with plain white sheets and a side table were the only furnishings in the room. No headboard, no bureau, but Pamela didn’t even remotely care about such things anymore.
    She took a few steps toward the door that connected to the en suite. But then she suddenly felt a little woozy.
    She swayed, steadied herself, and then stumbled back to sit on the edge of the bed. She reverently placed the laptop beside her and opened it. As she tried to boot the computer, she struggled to keep her eyes open.Eventually, she lost that struggle. Pamela tipped sideways, unconscious, on the bed, her right hand still on the keys of the laptop.  
    •••••••••
    Black.  
    Muted voices.
    A male and a female. Their voices familiar, but not easily identifiable.
    Pamela was pretty sure she was dreaming.
    “She down?”
    “She’s practically drooling.”
    She attempted to open and focus her eyes, but all she could make out were two very blurry figures at the base of the bed.
    “You know, if this doesn’t work, we might have to … you know, monster mash her.”
    “You saw the memo. There is no more mashing,” the female voice mocked. “Plus, dating yourself much?”
    “Ah, is little Karli scared to lose her bestest friend in the —”
    “I do what I have to, don’t I?” the woman snapped back.
    The image of the two people blurred back into black.
    •••••••••
    Pamela opened her eyes.
    She was lying in a bed, covered with a thick down duvet. The room was different from before. It was personally decorated with photographs and knickknacks. Once again, pink dominated. Her laptop sat on a white-painted antique desk in the corner. Whoever had painted over actual wood was an idiot, but there was no denying it was a pretty desk that suited the decor of the bedroom perfectly.
    Pamela groaned and held a hand to her aching jaw. Her arm was clean, no sign of dirt or blood or scars. Her hair was no longer in an French twist, but spilled freely over the soft pillow underneath her head. It was curly, as if recently washed and allowed to dry naturally. She was wearing a pink tank top.
    The wedding gown was gone.
    As she struggled to sit up, her movement disturbed the person lying beside her. He protectively flung an arm across her.
    It was Grady.
    Pamela screamed.
    Grady bolted awake.
    Hysterically kicking the sheets with her feet, she tried to get out of the bed.  
    “Hey, hey.” At the sound of his voice, Pamela paused and stared at Grady. Elation warred with pain until the absolute need to believe that he was alive won out. Pamela flung herself at him, kissing him wildly. Grady attempted to fend off the bulk of her amorous assault.
    “Hey, hey, careful. Careful. Did … did you have a bad dream?”
    “I should have … I should have trusted, I’ll never doubt again.”  
    “Shhh, you’re just having a bad reaction to the drugs,” he said. “You know, like the dentist said.”
    “Dentist?”
    “Your root canal. Certainly you can feel that?”
    “Yes, but —”
    Grady climbed out of bed.
    “Don’t leave.”
    “I’m not,” he said, as he leaned back to kiss her forehead. “Just getting you something to eat. It’ll help take the edge off.”
    He slipped out of the room, carefully closing the door behind him.
    Pamela looked around, still completely disoriented. She remembered and then looked at the smooth, unwounded skin of her wrists. She ran her finger over the flesh of her forearm and frowned.
    “Something wrong?” Grady asked, as he entered with a lunch tray. Pamela just stared at him. It felt like he’d only been gone from the room for about thirty seconds or so, which was odd, wasn’t it?. “That must have been a really bad dream.” Grady placed the tray over Pamela’s lap. “Was it the one where all your teeth are loose and you start accidentally pulling them out?”
    “No,”