by Elle A. Rose
***
Olivia is staring at me wide eyed. I am not looking directly at her, but I can feel her gaze upon me. I release a sigh as I look up to meet her big blue eyes. She sees that I am still upset.
“That was some dream, Amber.”
She takes my hand and brings it up to her cheek.
“I agree. I wasn’t sure if I was reliving the past, or if I was really dreaming. Everything was so real. I could feel the warmth from Lance’s skin, and I could smell Annie like she was shifting right in front of me. Every noise, every touch, it was so life like. If you hadn’t come in here, I would have thought that the dream was real and this was all a dream.” I motion to the room, and everything within it, before I let my free hand flop down on the bed.
Olivia continues to stroke my other hand with her cheek.
“I know it still hurts, sweetie, but we all know you did the right thing.”
She is right and that is all that matters. I made certain Lance had a good head start in life, and I gave him the help he needed to make sure he had all I could not give him. Olivia lets go of my hand, and stretches her arms out as she yawns. I sense she is getting ready to fall asleep. “Looks like you’ll be sleeping soon. Well, I’m going to take a short run before getting ready for work. I shall see you later this afternoon.”
Olivia has a nervous look on her face.
“Amber, it was just a dream. Please don’t beat yourself up over this all day.”
She knows me well. I only take runs or swims-depending on what town I live in-when I need to clear my head, or I am feeling restless. I smile at her. There is no point in telling her it is a little too late for the regret game. I beat myself up every moment of every day for the choices I have made.
Walking out the backdoor, I look around. The sun is not fully up yet. I still have three hours, two minutes and twenty-seven seconds until I start my work day. That will be plenty of time for me to have a run and clear my head. Olivia is right; I should not beat myself up over my dream. Besides, I have kept a few tabs on Lance over the years. The day in the restaurant was not my last time seeing him. It would have been nice if we could have seen each other under better circumstances, but to say the least, it was nice to see him. As I begin my run, I try hard not the think about Lance. I know before the end of my jog, I will lose the battle. Why do I even bother to fight it?