“It’s been almost three hours, and my mind is still in a haze.
No, not a haze. Not even a dense fog. It feels as if I’m wandering around in a pitch-black room, searching for the light switch.
“You okay?” Charlie asks. I’ve been staring at her for several seconds, attempting to regain some semblance of familiarity from a face that should apparently be the most familiar to me.
She looks down at her desk and her thick, black hair falls between us like blinders. I want a better look at her. I need something to grab me, something familiar. I want to predict a birthmark or a freckle on her before I see it, because I need something recognizable. I’ll grasp at any piece of her that might convince me I’m not losing my mind.
She reaches her hand up, finally, and tucks her hair behind her ear. She looks up at me through two wide and completely unfamiliar eyes. The crease between her brows deepens and she begins biting at the pad of her thumb.
She’s worried about me. About us, maybe.