Where true love surges and sways,
cold logic finds no place to stay,
There feelings bloom at break of day,
and spring sings in the heart’s own way.(c)
Marichka Melnyk
Alice
Something wet brushes against my cheek. I try to open my eyes, but sleep clings to me like a stubborn vine, wrapping me tighter in its grip. The sensation comes again—cool and unpleasant. It’s as if someone splashed water on me or, worse, spat. I struggle to pry my eyes open, but they refuse to budge. Breathing feels like a chore, as though a boulder is pressing down on my chest. I can’t move; my body aches like I’ve been hit by a truck. A big one.
Fear creeps in. What if… what if I’m dead? That thought alone forces my glued lashes apart. I jolt, my gaze landing on something terrifying and shaggy. A groan escapes me as pain throbs at the back of my head.
“DeeDee,” I croak, startled by the sound of my own voice.
It’s the kind of rasp that could scare a grown man in the dark. My cat is perched right on my chest, making it nearly impossible to breathe. She must have licked my face raw while I was out cold. But how did she even get into the bedroom? I never let her in.
“Shoo,” I manage to hiss. She turns away, offended, and finally gets off me.
I gulp in a deep breath, but wince. I feel awful. Reaching out, I hope to grab the glass of water on my nightstand, but my fingers only find a shoe. Something’s off. I roll onto my side and stare at the floor. What in the world? Why was I sleeping on the floor? With great effort, I manage to sit up, my head spinning. My left foot is still in a high heel. I touch the back of my head and yelp—there’s a massive bump. Where did that come from? What happened last night? Or… was it even here? I can’t remember a thing.
“DeeDee, help me out,” I mutter, my throat dry as a desert. I’m dying for a drink.
My cat pointedly struts toward the kitchen. I stand up cautiously. I’m wearing a short, glittery dress. Where did I even get this? But right now, that’s the least of my worries.
Shuffling to the kitchen like a creaky old lady, I cling to the walls for support. Black spots dance before my eyes, and nausea churns in my stomach. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and chug half of it. That helps a bit, but something’s definitely wrong with my head. My gaze catches a slice of cheesecake from my favorite bakery. So that’s the taste lingering in my mouth—strawberry.
I slump onto a chair, trying to piece together the last events of my life, but all that comes to mind is the day I adopted DeeDee. What nonsense is this? I need to look in a mirror, but I’m scared. I have a sinking feeling I won’t like what I see. Standing up, a memory flashes— a club, tequila, dancing. No way, I don’t dance like that. That’s just… wild.
Oh, my head is killing me. I find a painkiller, pop it, and wash it down with more water. Carefully, I make my way to the bathroom. DeeDee trails behind, probably annoyed that her breakfast is late and her bowl is empty.
Another vivid memory hits—spilled water on the floor. She does that, plays with her water bowl. I nearly slipped once because of it. Looks like last night, she finally got me. But why? As if to confirm my suspicion, I spot a wet patch where I’d been lying. I must have slipped. Probably. There’s no other explanation for why I was passed out next to my cat’s bowls.
I step into the bathroom; it’s cooler here. I turn on the water and hesitantly lift my eyes to the mirror.
“Oh, Lord!” I gasp, pain shooting through my head. Is that me? My blonde hair is a tangled mess, sticking out in every direction. My face is pale, with dark mascara smudges under my eyes and smeared lipstick on my lips. I look like a character straight out of a horror flick. Where was I last night? Why am I dressed like this?
Okay, I need a shower. That’ll set things right. I’m counting on it. I turn on the cool water and step under the stream, washing my hair gently, barely touching the sore spot. By the time I’m done, I’m shivering. I prefer warm showers—or better yet, a long, fragrant bath. And I usually wake up with a cup of coffee by the window, not sprawled next to a cat bowl.
I wrap myself in a towel, comb my hair, and apply some oil to soften it. Heading to the bedroom, DeeDee starts meowing in protest. I change course and fill her bowl with food. My purse, still lying by the door, starts ringing with some ridiculous tune I don’t remember setting. I dig out my phone, but the name on the screen is unfamiliar.
“Hello,” I answer quietly, listening intently.
“How’re you holding up?” a hoarse voice asks from the other end.
“I’m okay,” I reply, dragging out the words in confusion. “And you?”
“Feel like I’m about to keel over,” the woman grumbles. Fear prickles my skin. She clearly knows me, but I don’t recognize her voice at all.
“I hope the celebration isn’t canceled?”
“Uh, I don’t think so,” I say, tempted to ask what celebration, but I hold back.
“Imagine if you backed out,” she laughs, then coughs. “That’d cause a riot. Who’d cancel an event like this after sinking so much money into it? I’ve got a hair appointment in an hour, and I haven’t even gotten out of bed,” she complains while I stay silent. “Alright, gotta go. See you later.” She hangs up so fast I don’t get a chance to say a word.
Who was that? The screen says “Jenna,” but I have no clue who she is.
Okay, let’s break down our conversation. Apparently, we’re meeting later at some fancy, expensive event. If only I knew what it was. I need to get dressed and call my best friend, Mia. She’ll know everything and fill me in. She always does. She’s my rock in the toughest times.
Before I can step away, my phone chimes with a message. It pops up on the locked screen. I read it and stumble upon a new puzzle:
Mom: Be there in half an hour. Hairdresser’s on the way.
So, Mom’s coming to this mysterious event too. Good, she’ll explain everything—where we’re going and why. I notice a flood of notifications on my phone. I try to unlock it, but the password doesn’t work. This is beyond a joke. Was I drinking last night, or did I lose my memory when I hit the floor?
“Thanks a lot, DeeDee,” I mutter, but my cat couldn’t care less about my problems. Once she’s fed, I might as well be invisible.
My head feels like it’s about to explode with questions. I desperately need coffee. Still in my towel, I head to the kitchen and switch on the coffee machine. I grab the leftover cheesecake and savor a bite. Delicious. I’m obsessed with cheesecake—any kind, with fruit or without. Simple, light, and so good. I take a sip of coffee and finally feel human again.
I lift another forkful of dessert to my mouth when a memory flashes—I’m sitting in a café with… who? Mia, probably. Yes, definitely her. We’re eating… I strain to remember. Carrot cake. That’s it. I didn’t like it; it wasn’t sweet at all. But I smiled and nodded. Weird.
Where are these memories coming from? Are they fragments of strange dreams I had while passed out on the floor? I finish the cheesecake and coffee, wash the dishes, and head to the bedroom. I just want to lie down and sleep deeply, waking up with all my memories intact—and preferably without a headache or a bump on my head.
In the bedroom, everything looks normal, which is a relief. I sit on the soft bed, trying to make sense of the situation. Honestly, nothing terrible has happened. I slipped because DeeDee spilled water. I slept on the floor, but no big deal—no one saw, and I’m not telling. I can’t remember my phone password, but that’s fixable; I have a habit of writing everything down in a notebook. So, the only real issue is Jenna, who I don’t remember at all. But she’s probably just a distant acquaintance because I’d never forget my close friends. That’s it. I can breathe easy and finally get dressed.
I stand up and open the closet, but on the wrong side—there are just suits here. I open the other half and spot a garment bag. Curious. Right now, I feel like I’m rummaging through someone else’s clothes. I grab a robe, slip it on, and tie it quickly. I take the hanger with the garment bag and lay it on the bed. It’s probably a dress for tonight’s event. For some reason, I picture it as red—I love that color. Slowly, I unzip the bag, and with each inch, my eyes widen more. Not red… white! I stand there, staring at a wedding dress that absolutely shouldn’t be in my closet. No way.