Cold sweat slides down my back, matting my hair to my forehead. Every night, the same horrific dream.

Every.

Goddamn.

Night.

I’ve never had nightmares before, why now? Why on my honeymoon? I stiffly slide out of bed and head towards the porcelain sink sitting in the corner. I slowly sip the chalky water, a routine now... The water makes me feel sick as always, grimacing as I watch my husband lay on our shared bed.

Lucky b*stard, he had the same dreams, but he hasn’t complained about it recently. I turned to the mirror as I felt the prickles of anger shoot down my neck. How did he get rid of those awful dreams? I was plagued with them every night, and now I’ve seen little snippets in the day now. The heat scalded my skin, even in this vast, sleepy town in the fall.  The flickering light as I walked down the hallway in the hotel. I can’t get it out of my head. 

My reflection stares back at me confused. Leaning over the sink, I begin to heave. My stomach churning, head feeling like an overinflated balloon; ready to pop. After some time, my hand swipes across my mouth, scoffing at the weakness. I turn, a dancer tripping, as I plop onto the bed. I reached for the lighter on the nightstand and flips it open. Click.

I close it. Clink.

Click, Clink.

Click, Clink.

Click, Clink.

Click-

I smile at the flames, the exact color from my dreams. “Darling,” I slur, “it’s a bit chilly in here.”

I reach to touch his hand: ice cold. His blank eyes staring up at the plaster ceiling. Setting the opened lighter at the end of the bed, “Here let me warm us up.”