I wanted to tell him everything—that I’d spent a terrifying four days pacing the hallways of the AM, not even caring that I maybe was walking above a basement full of people held against their will because all that mattered was that the AM was taking care of my dad. I wanted to tell him that those four days were for nothing; that we were sent home with a new medication, one to help him manage the seizures but do nothing else, and just told to wait and keep an eye on him, not leave him alone in his work shed around all those sharp objects or let him operate heavy machinery in case he had another seizure. That that was likely, that the seizures might happen more frequently, but it was just a symptom of the disease, that it didn’t necessarily mean things were getting worse. That I’d lost all hope that I was going to have my dad at my eventual culinary school graduation. At my future wedding.

Instead, I found myself asking the question that had been begging to be asked since I’d first been in Damien’s dreams, seen all those bits and pieces of his soul. The question I knew the answer to, but not the full truth of.

“You were in love with them, weren’t you?”

“Who?” Damien’s eyes were wide with fear—somehow deeper and more real than the fear in him when he talked about the AM.

“Mark.”

“What?” His eyes widened impossibly farther.

“And Sam?”

“What?” Something in his fear broke and he shuddered. “God, no. Sam? No. Ugh,” he added for good measure, shaking his head back and forth like he was trying to shake water out of his ears.

“But Mark…?” I ventured.

“What makes you so sure?” He crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes at me. He also wasn’t very good at being visually intimidating and it made me feel a little better.

“What do you think?” I said, fixing him with a blank stare. He blushed.

“Yeah, okay,” he conceded. “Fair enough.”

He shifted in his seat.

“It helped, you know,” he mumbled. “What you did. It helped.”

“Oh.” I breathed, and then my face broke out into a smile. “I’m glad.”

“What did you mean by ‘them’?” he asked.

“There was something else I saw,” I said. “A woman. Two women. Warm smile … flowers.”

“Indah.” He sighed, his eyes closing like he could smell the flowers suddenly. That was a look of love if I’d ever seen one.

“And the other woman…” I tried to remember the flashes of feeling from those early dreams. “Bright and blue…”

“Neon,” he whispered, his voice growing hoarse.

“Ex-girlfriends?” I asked.

“Ex-somethings,” he said annoyingly.

“Like Mark?”

“Yeah,” he said after a moment, like admitting that out loud, even in a single word, was difficult.

“So you were in love with them?” I pushed.