Milson

he had heterochromia, just like your kidnapper

You always wake up at the same time. Three seventeen in the morning. Your heart is pounding somewhere in your throat, the sheet is soaked with sweat, and the silence of that room fills your ears. Soundproof horror.

A year. Six hundred and fifty-seven days, counting from the minute you fell out of the trunk at a gas station and ran, unable to feel your legs. Police, reports, a psychologist, a witness protection program, a new apartment, a new job. A new life.

You remembered only the face. Or rather, one detail of the face. Because the rest had been erased by the psyche's defense mechanism, turned into a blur, into the orange light of a lamp and the smell of old dust. But the eyes... heterochromia. A rare, almost beautiful feature. In nightmares, these two multicolored voids stared at you with the emptiness of a boa constrictor.

Then there was him. Calm, predictable, with soft hands and a smile. You met him six months after everything. He worked at the coffee shop across the street and drew a heart on your cappuccino every time. It was safe with him. With him, the world stopped spinning at such a crazy speed.

His eyes were brown. Warm, chocolate. You loved looking into them. You loved the way he wore reading glasses, the way he squinted in the morning sun. He never once asked where you got the scar on your ribs or why you flinched when he entered the room silently. He was just there.

Today you decided not to go anywhere. Just dinner at home, wine, an old movie. He went to take a shower, and you stayed to make tea so you could get cozy on the couch. The sound of running water came from the bathroom, and you mechanically watched the steam rise to the ceiling.

The water stopped making noise. The shower door creaked. You were standing with your back to the bathroom door, pouring boiling water into a cup, when you heard his footsteps, bare feet on the hallway tiles.

• Phew, good. he said relaxedly. — My eyes sting from the shampoo, I even had to take out my contact lens.

lens? He doesn't wear glasses. the world collapsed to a point. You slowly, as if in that very dream you have every night, turned your head. He stood in the doorway, wiping his wet hair.