As soon as we get to the house, Edward sends me off to the living room couch and tells me to rest my legs on the coffee table. I refuse at first—it feels improper to do so in a house that isn’t even ours—but he insists, saying he won’t help me clean and bandage my knees otherwise. With a sigh, I finally give in, placing my feet gingerly on the edge of the table.

Edward dashes off to the bathroom to fetch bandages, ointment, and a cloth. When he returns, he’s holding everything in his arms, and the damp cloth drips water onto the hardwood floor in soft, rhythmic plops.

“Careful now! You’re getting water on the floor!”

“It’s alright, do not worry,” Edward replies, brushing off my concern as he sits beside me on the couch. He takes my leg in his lap and begins gently wiping the scrapes clean. The sting of the cloth makes me wince. He’s careful, but thorough, and once he’s satisfied, he smooths on some Neosporin before wrapping gauze around my knees and securing it with tape.

“Couldn’t you have just used some of those adhesive bandages?” I complain, eyeing the bulky wrappings. “This feels so unnecessary and uncomfortable.”

“There weren’t many left. Besides, this gives you more coverage,” he replies simply, focused on his task.

I roll my eyes. “Alright then,” I mutter.

Once he’s finished, Edward returns the supplies to the bathroom. When he comes back, he picks up his wallet and keys from the side table.

“I’m going to stop by the store,” he says, slipping both into his coat pocket. “I need to buy a new umbrella. I doubt the one that broke when you fell is still usable.”

“Okay,” I reply, watching him head toward the door.

“Stay here, alright? If anyone knocks, don’t answer. And keep the curtains closed so no one sees you inside. I’m beginning to think this place isn’t entirely safe… especially not for a woman on her own. I’ll be back in no more than an hour and a half.”

“Oh, stop treating me like a child,” I grumble, crossing my arms.

“Do not be upset, love. I’m just trying to protect you,” he says, turning back to me with a softened expression. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to you. Please, just listen to me?”

I glance up at him. His right hand is resting on the doorknob, his left clutching his wallet and keys. There’s something pleading in his eyes. “Alright,” I sigh, giving in. “I’ll do as you say. I promise.”

He crosses the room and presses a kiss to my cheek. “I’ll be back before you know it. Be safe.”

With that, he opens the door and steps outside. A moment later, I hear the faint click of the lock sliding into place.

My body feels heavy with fatigue. I lie back on the couch and rest my head against a pillow. My eyelids droop, and I soon drift off to sleep.

❁❁❁❁

I wander through a dark forest, stumbling blindly. The moon is hidden behind thick clouds, and a light drizzle falls from above, soaking my hair and dress. There’s no light at all, and the air feels heavy and wrong.

As I move forward carefully, I trip over something solid. I fall forward, catching myself with my hands in the mud. When I look to see what I tripped on, a sudden shaft of moonlight breaks through the clouds, casting a faint glow over the figure.

It’s Edward.

“Edward?” I whisper, crawling toward him. He’s lying face down, his clothing soaked and streaked with mud. His face is pale. “Edward?” I shake him, gently at first, then harder. He doesn’t respond.

Panic rises in my chest. I roll him over and press my ear to his chest. Nothing. No heartbeat. I fumble for his wrist, checking for a pulse. Still nothing.

“No,” I whimper. “No, no, no. This can’t be happening.” I clutch his body, my hands now caked in mud. I didn’t love him like he loved me—but he was one of my best friends. Why did this happen?

“There you are!”

I turn to see Margaret running toward me, her red hair flying wildly behind her.

“Edward’s dead!” I cry.

“What?” she gasps, not because she didn’t hear me, but because she couldn’t believe what I had said.

“I was walking, and it was so dark… and then I tripped over something, and it was him, and—he wouldn’t wake up. He’s gone, Margaret, he’s gone.”

“I’m so sorry, love,” she says gently, kneeling beside me. She places a hand on my back. “I know how much he meant to you. He was one of your closest friends, wasn’t he?”

“Y-yes,” I choke out, tears spilling down my cheeks.

“It’s alright. You have me. We have each other,” she says, trying to comfort me. She wipes at my tears, though they don’t stop. Eventually, she gives up.

“But that’s not what’s bothering me the most,” I whisper. “What hurts is that I didn’t love him the way he loved me. He deserved better. He was alone, and he never even knew it.”

Yes I did know. A voice hisses through my mind. You’re a traitor. A filthy sexual deviant. Scum. You deserve to die. And you will.

I freeze. The voice is Edward’s.

His eyes open.

Before Margaret or I can move, he lurches upright and grabs Margaret by the neck of her dress. With monstrous strength, he snaps her neck.

“NO!” I scream, clawing at him. But he throws her aside like she weighs nothing, then turns toward me, his eyes full of hatred—

“Florence! Are you alright?”

My eyes snap open. I’m screaming. Edward is beside me, shaking me, his face inches from mine.

I shut my mouth, trembling, as the nightmare slips away. “It was a dream,” I say, voice hoarse. “Just a dream.”

“What happened?” he asks, stroking my hair. “You were asleep when I came back, and the next thing I know, you’re screaming like someone’s trying to kill you.”

“Bad dream,” I manage. “I was walking through the woods, and I tripped over something. It was you—but you were dead. Margaret came, tried to comfort me, but then…” I trail off, wrapping my arms around myself. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’ve never had a nightmare that bad before.”

Edward looks at me for a long moment. “You might’ve hit your head when you fell. Or maybe everything that happened today just rattled you more than you realized. Why don’t you wash up and change out of that dress while I make you some chamomile tea? That should help you calm down. You can rest for the rest of the day.”

“Alright,” I agree quietly. I stand, retrieve my nightgown from the bedroom, and step into the bathroom for a long, hot bath.

Something about that dream felt too real. And I know it was just a dream—but still… I just want to go home. I want to sit with Margaret and drink tea and pretend none of this ever happened.

I can’t wait to go back home.