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"Bad night again, Higgins?"
Martin wipes his eyes and smiles sheepishly as his yawn recedes. Kai is watching him from the espresso machine, amused.
"Yeah," Martin says, returning to pouring out the coffee beans. The sound of rattling beans fills the air, and he has to raise his voice to be heard. "Not as bad as last Wednesday, though."
His coworker laughs. "Well, as long as you don't fall asleep in the middle of taking someone's order, again."
Martin chuckles awkwardly at the memory, feeling a fresh wave of embarrassment crawl up his spine. That had not been a good day. He'd almost been sent home for the slip-up.
"Is there anything bothering you? It might be better to get it off your chest." Kai points out.
Martin shakes out the last of the coffee beans and ponders the suggestion. "I'm not sure how that'll help, but... well, I've been having these..." He gestures vaguely. The plastic packaging flops in the air. "Dreams."
Kai raises a brow. "Nightmares?"
Martin scrunches up his nose. "I wouldn't say that. They aren't scary or sad; there's a girl—" he hesitates there, unsure of how to continue. "They're not bad dreams, basically. Just... strange. And a little familiar."
"Ah."
Martin shrugs helplessly, moving past Kai to grab the broom and dustpan. He's spotted some dirt in a corner of the café.
"Maybe they’re memories from a past life,” Kai jokes, leaning back against the counter. He seems entertained by the very thought. “Some people do say that’s where dreams come from.”
Martin laughs good-naturedly, but shakes his head and gets to sweeping. “Maybe so.” A past life. What an amusing idea.
For as long as Martin can remember, he's been alone.
Those who know him—though, admittedly, quite a scarce bunch—know him as the man who lives by himself in that big house just outside of Appleton. No family, no prior friends. Appleton was his chance at a new life. Is his new life.
It's peaceful here, if a little mundane. Sometimes the bed feels too spacious, and sometimes the silence stretches out for too long. He can't stand being by himself in the house, most days. He's not sure why. It's got nothing to do with the house itself, though—that's perfect. Maybe he's just not used to it yet.
Despite that, it's not all bad. His favourite part of the house is the porch. There are two rocking chairs, just like there are two toothbrushes in the sink and two extra pillows in the master bedroom. It's strange, for sure, but he can't seem to recall why he possesses such a surplus of items. It might have just been a mistake in the delivery, or he accidentally ordered too much.
Whatever it is, he doesn't mind it. He's grown quite fond of the pair of rocking chairs—both of them, even though he only ever sits on the innermost one. His hope is that one day, the chair to his left will be filled.
A breeze sweeps past. The air cools on his face. There's movement to his left and his gaze flashes there on instinct, but there's nothing there. It must have just been his hair in the wind.
He stares at the empty rocking chair next to him. And stares. And stares.
Sometimes, Martin gets this hunch, this feeling, that he's missing something. That all these pairs, all these extras, aren't by accident but on purpose. That all of this was supposed to amount to something. That there's supposed to be something—someone —else.
But that's just the loneliness talking. It's a silly notion, really. Just a little daydream he sometimes indulges in.
Because for as long as Martin can remember, he's been alone. He likes to think that if there was someone else, he'd remember that.
"Ron," laughs the woman, and he feels every cell in his body sing, reach for her in response. When he pulls her against him, hands around her waist, head tilted down adoringly at her, the world disappears and leaves just the two of them.
"What?" He asks, grinning when she huffs. She's beautiful.
"Doofus," she smiles, and leans in.
When Martin sets out two plates on the dining table for dinner again, he decides enough is enough.
The cat he adopts is a British Shorthair with a chocolate coat and white fur blanketing the underside of its belly. It had looked the grumpiest out of all the cats at the adoption centre, but its brown eyes had shone an enchanting gold in the light, and Martin instantly knew he would have no other as his companion.
He names her Courtney — not a special name by any means, but a simple one that just feels right on his tongue.
It takes a while for Courtney to warm up to him completely. In the first few days, she'd scratch him if he came too close, and spent most of her time in the bed he'd gotten her. But after a week of sitting patiently next to her, holding out treats and waiting for her to come to him instead, she finally seemed to cave in and would approach him without hesitation.
Having Courtney around livens up the place more — suddenly the house doesn't feel as empty or as silent, and Martin finds that he rather likes having something to come home to. He can't help but smile when he feels the slight brush of fur against his leg, or when he hears soft meows echoing through the room during mealtimes. But his favourite moments are the more simple, quiet ones: when Courtney is cozied into his lap, pawing at the owl toy he'd bought her because it looked like one he'd seen before, or when they're sitting together on the porch in silence — Courtney curled up comfortably on the rocking chair to his left, and everything feels right.
This was what he was missing, it seems: companionship. And now he has it all.
(He ignores the little voice in the back of his head that tells him it’s not enough. What more could he possibly want?)
Something strange happens when Martin is on his way home one evening. The day had passed in the same old, mundane routine, and he had gotten an itch he’d been more prone to, recently: the desire to do something more simmering under his skin, waiting to manifest itself.
His response had been to take the long way home — stroll through the neighbourhood park, take in a slightly different scenery from the one he’s gotten used to.
It turns out to be a mistake: one moment he’s walking and breathing and fine, and the next moment a voice is ringing in his ears, rattling his consciousness and blurring the world around him.
“Wait up, Reagan!”
Martin’s heart drops instantaneously into the deep pits of his stomach. He feels almost weightless as he spins, frantic, eyes desperately seeking—for what, for what?—and stops abruptly when his gaze lands on a little girl who couldn’t be more than seven, giggling and dashing after what appears to be her sister—a slightly older blonde with hair down to her waist.
He stands there for a long while, trying to catch his breath, waiting for his surroundings to come back into focus.
What was that? He thinks, and comes up empty.
But the pounding in his chest persists until he’s all the way home, and when he steps through the front door he wastes no time in scooping Courtney up and holding her close to his chest, burying his face into her fur as his eyes start to sear.
Why am I crying? He still doesn’t know, but his heart burns all the same, lighting his every nerve on fire, and he’s only brought back to his senses by the sound of Courtney’s rhythmic, comforting purrs.
He never takes the long way home again after that.
“I love you,” she says, out of nowhere.
He looks up from the book he’s reading, and there she is: ragged, but soft. Worn, but warm. The sunlight streaming in from the curtains behind him—the curtains they’d bought together—cast onto her frame and her hair, her eyes, glitter gold.
That familiar, whole feeling in his chest blossoms again. As it always does around her.
“And you call me the sap,” he teases, rising from his seat and gravitating towards her. The smile stretching across his face is uninhibited and fond.
She scoffs, but places her hand in his when he extends a palm. “That’s because you are.”
He decides to prove her right by bringing her fingers to his lips and kissing each one of them reverently. She shivers, her entire disposition melting, and when he meets her eyes, the pure affection in her expression nearly knocks him off his feet.
“Ron,” she murmurs, like she’s savouring the taste of his name on her tongue, like his name could mean more to her than a thousand books combined, “Ron.” Like that is enough. Like he is enough. Like she would do anything, give up anything for him.
And all this, he thinks, all this tenderness. All this love. It might break him, if he’s not careful. It might break him.
“Martin.”
He jolts back to the present world. Kai is looking at him quizzically, cloth in hand like he’s just about to clean the counter.
“Sorry, did you say something?” He’s been spacing out too much lately. He really needs to get a grip.
Kai shrugs. “No big deal. I just didn’t know if I’d asked you before.”
“What?”
“Why’d you decide to move to Appleton?”
Martin only has to think for a second; the factors rattle off his tongue almost on their own. “Well… Low crime, good schools, affordable housing,” he raises a finger for each point, like he’s checking them off a list, “Felt like a good deal.” He’s a little surprised by himself at how well he remembers. It all seemed to come out of nowhere.
Kai nods slowly as he processes Martin’s rapid-fire analysis. His moment of understanding is marked, however, by the instance his face scrunches up in confusion.
Martin frowns. “What is it? You don’t agree?”
Kai shakes his head, brows furrowed as he examines Martin again. “Don’t you live alone?”
Martin blinks. “Yeah, I do. I thought everyone knew that.”
The cloudy expression on Kai’s face clears up somewhat. “Ah. It’s just… what you said. Your considerations. You sounded like a couple looking to start a family.”
“Oh.” Martin replies, unsure of what to say. Unsure of why the thought of starting a family hits him like a frying pan to the stomach. “Well, it’s not something I’m looking to do at the moment. I’ve got my hands full with my new cat.”
“New cat?” Kai’s eyes bug out. “You never told me about that!”
Martin smiles, pulling out his phone to show off pictures of Courtney. The conversation moves on, but a part of Martin remains stuck on the thought.
Starting a family. Somehow the idea doesn’t feel wrong, but it doesn’t feel quite right either. Something seems missing from the whole equation. Something he can’t place.
A girlfriend, maybe, he thinks absent-mindedly. His heart gives a little clench at the idea, but he pays it no mind. Pulling up a shot he’d taken of Courtney napping on the rocking chair, he turns to Kai.
Work is long, tiring and terrible. Today has reminded him of the ten-foot-long list of reasons why he hates his job, why he hates himself for taking it up in the first place, and why he hates this corrupt, self-destructing world.
He can’t take much more of this. He can’t. It’s too much. It would be so much easier to just let everything go.
He trudges into his apartment, the weight of his turmoil physically digging into his shoulders, and he barely has time to let his mind wrap around the fact that he’s home before she appears, right where he needs her.
“Ron?” Her smile falters when she sees him. What a shame. He loves her smile, but he doesn’t even think he can muster up enough energy to speak right now, much less crack a joke.
But he doesn’t have to verbalise any of that. It’s a testament to how well they know each other now when she starts closing the distance between them, concern written all over her face. She places her phone on the nearest available surface and surges up to him with open arms, holding him tight, grounding him to her.
“Oh, Ron,” she sighs, “I’m here.” Her fingers card through his hair and slide to the base of his neck, where they linger. “I’m right here.”
He takes a deep breath and inhales the faded scent of her shampoo, catching the slightest whiff of cheese chips — meaning she’d found the last bag he’d hidden — and all the noises in his head quieten. He smiles, burying his face deep into the crook of her neck. He’s safe here. He is hers.
And then she is holding his jaw in her palms like he is some precious thing and they’re kissing, he’s breathing in her air like he needs it to survive, and that’s when it hits him. He never wants to live without her. He doesn’t think he can, anymore, after this. Does she know? Can she tell?
She needs to know, he thinks desperately. He needs to tell her. “R-”
This might be one of the worst mornings Martin has ever had in his life.
He’d suspected it wouldn’t be a good day when he’d woken up ten minutes later than he was supposed to. The thought had later resurfaced when he’d been forced to take a cold shower as he couldn’t wait for the water to heat up, but it finally crystallises during breakfast—when Courtney suddenly leaps onto the dining table and spills apple juice all over his work shirt.
It takes every ounce of his self control not to call in sick and spend the day on the floor.
Having cleaned up the mess and gotten a fresh set of clothes, Martin is officially running late for work. Left with no other choice, he adjusts his route to take the shortcut through the alleyway—he doesn’t use it often because it’s usually cluttered with trash and stray dogs—in hopes of being able to get to the coffee shop on time.
And this is when the last, most interesting, yet most damning thing of the morning happens.
While brisk walking through the alleyway, a series of noises coming from behind Martin cleanly cuts through his focus on getting to his workplace: a clap of thunder, a thrumming noise that lasts all but five seconds, finished with a crashing sound that makes him wince.
Loud cursing quickly follows, and Martin whips around to find the source of the noise. He has to wait a few seconds for the dust cloud to settle before he catches sight of it—a faintly human figure amongst the rubble.
All thoughts of work are out the window now. Concerned and slightly afraid, Martin steps forward to investigate. “Hey… are you okay?”
The woman lying amidst the mess of abandoned couches, toppled tables and upturned chairs coughs the remaining dust out of her mouth and squints up at him. Martin watches as her expression ripples from one of confusion, to shock, before melting into horror.
“Ron?” Her eyes are wide. “What are you- What are you doing here?”
The sound of her voice sends a strange pulse of electricity skittering down his spine. His chest feels weirdly tight. “Uh,” he laughs nervously, “I’m… not Ron. My name is Martin. Martin Higgins.”
It might be a trick of the light, but Martin swears he sees her flinch. She casts her eyes downwards, fists clenching, and there’s something different about her entire demeanour now. Something that almost seems defeated. “Yeah, sorry. I’ve got the wrong guy.”
“No worries,” Martin says easily. He extends a hand to help her up. “Are you hurt?”
(The gesture resonates within him, for some strange reason. All this—it feels like deja vu. It probably happened in a dream once. One of those dreams he doesn’t remember.)
She glances at his hand apprehensively. Some kind of pain flashes across her features, and his brows pinch slightly in worry. Is she injured? But after some visible deliberation, she places her hand in his and allows him to pull her to her feet.
The skin of her palm is rough, but her hand is still surprisingly soft. She smiles politely at him as she adjusts her lab coat. “Thank you. I’m fine.”
He narrows his eyes at her in disbelief, giving her a quick once-over to check for visible injuries. “Are you sure? It almost looked like you fell out of the sky…”
“What?” She says loudly, quickly. “Of course not, what a crazy idea. I just… tripped.” Her laughter is slightly forced and awkward. She’s rubbing the back of her neck.
There’s something painfully familiar about that—about her. His head hurts.
“Have we met somewhere before?”
Her entire body tenses at his question. “Met? Somewhere? What? Pfft- Where? No. We haven’t.” Her eyes land on the ground, staring at a dirty aluminium can resting near her feet. She takes a breath, seems to compose herself, and meets his eyes. “No, we haven't.”
Then why does it feel so much like they have? Why does she look at him like that, like they’re not strangers, like she knows him? Why did it feel like static crackling on his skin when their hands touched? The drumming in his temple is incessant. His fingers are trembling, slightly.
“So…” She starts, carefully, “How are you?”
Logically, objectively, he knows that it’s a weird question. He doesn’t know her. He doesn’t even know her name. Why would he talk about his life to a stranger? But then why is he still inclined to answer her? Why does it feel like he can tell her anything?
He should leave. This confusing swirl of thoughts—it’s too much.
“I’m running late for work, actually.” He smiles sheepishly, and is perplexed by the sudden dread that weighs on his body. “I have to go. With how much I fall asleep on the job, I’m on the verge of being fired as is.”
“Oh,” she says, like she wasn’t expecting that response. Like she’s just woken up from a long dream. “Your job…?”
He begins dusting himself off and replans his route to work in his head. “I work at a coffee shop nearby. It’s just down the alley and across the street. You should visit sometime.”
“Yeah,” she says softly. “Sometime.”
There’s a strange ache pulsing in his ribs, spreading through his core, parallel to the pulsing in his brain. “Well, if you’re okay, then I’ll be going now.” He turns to leave, waving as he does so. “Don’t go tripping in alleyways again! It was nice meeting you!”
He doesn’t wait for her response and takes off immediately. His shift, after all, starts in five minutes. But just as he’s about to round out of the corridor, he hears her call out from behind him. “Martin?”
At the sound of her voice, he screeches to a halt; turns to face her. “Yeah?”
Her ponytail floats slightly in the breeze. He’s suddenly reminded of the many slow evenings he’s spent sitting in his rocking chair, watching the tall grass sway.
There’s a pause. Something glints in her gaze—something soft, yet edged, yet warm.
Martin’s head pounds. It’s hard to breathe.
“Have a good day. It was nice meeting you, too.”
His encounter with that strange girl in the alley haunts him throughout the day. There was just something so unforgettable about her eyes. Something so sad.
Sleep doesn’t come easy that night, either. He tosses and turns in his bed for what feels like hours. He’d grown accustomed to it since he first moved in, but all of a sudden his bed feels too big again. Too lonely. It’s only when Courtney leaps onto the bed and curls up next to him that he’s finally able to get some semblance of rest.
He dreams of her that night, too. He dreams of holding her hand and kissing her in a crimson fountain, dreams of ducking through a burning city, dreams of her face aglow from the fire, and then she pushes him through a door and he’s falling, falling, through pitch black darkness, but he doesn’t ever seem to hit the ground. And then his chest is aching, aching, like it’s been stabbed, but he feels around and there’s no blood. There’s no wound. He’s saying something, calling someone’s name, but no sound comes out. He screams and screams and screams until his throat is raw, but all there is is silence.
And then there’s a voice.
Your name is Martin Higgins. You live just outside Appleton, Wisconsin. You had a hard time for a long time, but you did something brave. You took a chance on a new life because you realised you deserved one.
He’s choking, gasping, struggling through the murky nothingness. Wait, he shouts, No, please.
The voice trembles. I searched a thousand lifetimes for the one that would make you happiest. And you’ll find it, one day. Just without me.
How can I? He begs. No one hears him. How can I? How can you? He claws at his ribs, desperate for reprise, desperate for sound, yelling stop, stop, please. And that name burns into his throat, evaporates on his tongue. That name.
You’re free now. I’m sorry that I couldn’t be free with you. I’ll miss you, Ron. And I know if it were possible, you’d miss me too.
Martin wakes with wet cheeks and a heaving chest. His nose is clogged and his fingers are trembling. Try as he might, he can’t seem to remember what he was crying about.
Courtney tentatively places a paw on his arm. Martin sinks his fingers into her fur and sighs.
“Sorry if I scared you. It must have been a bad dream.”