You laughed, blushed a little. So darn cute. “We shall see. Look, I’ve got to go. Been good talking to you.”

As you got in the car and drove off, I drew in a deep breath that expanded the tightening muscles in my ribs and chest. I wasn’t sure I’d taken a breath since I’d seen you last night.

Obsession wasn’t good for me, according to my doctor. He said I took things too far. Crossed boundaries. Maybe I had once or twice, but I’d learned my lesson, and I wouldn’t do bad things anymore.

This time nothing bad was going to happen.

12 MARISA

12

MARISA

Sunday, March 13, 2022

1:15 a.m.

After sitting in a group meeting for two hours, absorbing stories, excuses, and promises to improve, I made my way home. Still too restless to sleep, I worked for four more hours on editing the photos I’d taken at the courthouse wedding. Normally, I didn’t return edited photos for a couple of weeks, but I’d finally caught up on processing the pictures I’d taken before my accident. Though it had been a grueling few weeks on the computer as I’d played catch-up, I couldn’t let this time go to waste—I didn’t want to box myself in like that ever again. New memo to self: Don’t procrastinate. Sincerely, Marisa-Tomorrow.

When I finally switched off the computer, it was after one. I grabbed a seltzer from the refrigerator and walked to the large window overlooking the glittering lights of the city. It was a peaceful time of night. Quiet. I’d always been a night owl, savoring the stillness, until the night my car slammed into that utility pole just south of Church Hill two months ago.

After impact, a thick darkness had swallowed me, seeping into my eyes, ears, mouth, and nose. I’d struggled to scream, breathe, and open my eyes, but the weight of the inky shadows had been too heavy.

I’d woken up in the hospital two days later. Brit had been sitting at my bedside, her eyes shadowed by smudges, her hair oily and slicked back, her eyes half-closed.

“Water,” I whispered.

Brit had sat up, looked around as if she’d expected to see someone else, and then realized it had been me who’d spoken. She rose, reached for the buzzer, and called the nurse. Nurses and then a doctor had come into the room. My eyelids were raised, and a bright light was soon shining on my irises.

“Marisa, can you hear me?” a man asked.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Do you know where you are?”

“No.” Though I was already presuming it was a hospital, I didn’t have the words or the energy to articulate the thought. I sensed someone pacing, moving back and forth in an agitated line. Brit. It had to be Brit. Everyone else was operating with clinical precision.