*Copyright: This material is protected by copyright owned by Meg Farrell, Farrell Writes LLC. 2016
The morning sun rises through the window by the bed. I’m too hot and almost sweating from the heat radiating from Justin’s body. He’s like a space heater or electric blanket in the bed with me. I squirm to get free from his hold, but it’s useless. I try to pull away, and he grumbles as he squeezes me tighter. As I lay awake, staring at the beautiful scenery from the bedroom window, our conversation plays over and over in my mind.
Justin is the man who rescued me. All those nights remembering my escape, I couldn’t remember his face. It has haunted me that a stranger saved me. A mixture of emotions swirl through my mind, among them gratitude, fear, and anxiety. When I think of that night, the outstanding memory of that man is safety. He made me feel safe. This is why I felt like I knew him when we met. I do know him. I’ve known him for a long time. I was unaware of that fact until last night. I sigh.
“What are you thinking about?” A deep, scratchy morning voice rumbles in my ear.
I shrug. “Everything.”
Justin kisses the back of my head. “I know. Me too.”
“When I told you my story, about how I died and started over, is that why you freaked out? You knew when I told you that I was the woman you saved that night?”
I can feel him nod. “I suspected. There were so many similarities. What I didn’t tell you was that, when I left the force, I kept looking. Your face was unrecognizable from the bruising and swelling. So I was looking for a needle in a haystack. Looking for someone with brown hair, but beyond your build and hair, I had nothing to go on. It was killing me. How strange that we would stumble across each other the way we did. That is strange, right?”
I think over this for a while, then ask, “Why did you keep looking?”