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Small Cut, Big Memory
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2025-03-04 15:00:25Maya
"Alex?" I asked, confused by his disproportionate response.
He didn't seem to hear me, trapped in some internal vision. His breathing grew more labored, hands gripping the table edge with white-knuckle force.
I quickly wrapped my finger with a tissue and approached cautiously. "Alex, it's just a small cut. Nothing serious."
When I touched his arm, he flinched violently before awareness seemed to return to his eyes. "I'm—I'm sorry," he stammered, visibly fighting for control. "Blood—I can't—" He cut himself off, clearly embarrassed but still trembling.
The strong, composed man I'd come to know had vanished, replaced by someone struggling with what appeared to be a serious trauma response. I guided him to sit in another chair,
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MayaI slept with the lights on, the glass bead burning a hole in my clenched fist all night. Every creak and settling sound in the building had me bolt upright, heart hammering against my ribs. By morning, exhaustion had dulled the initial panic to a persistent, low-grade dread.The bead—physical evidence of a connection I was still struggling to comprehend—sat on my bathroom counter as I showered and dressed. Part of me wanted to throw it away, to reject whatever game Daniel was playing. But I couldn't bring myself to discard the only tangible link to fragments of memory that kept surfacing with increasing clarity."Mariposa," I whispered to my reflection, testing the nickname that had appeared in Daniel's note. Little Butterfly. The name stirred something deep and half-forgotten—a woman's voice calling me in from pla
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