When fantasy becomes reality

Chapter 2

A few days later, while loading the dishwasher at my workplace, I can't help but feel like I've stumbled into the middle of a psychological thriller. You know, the kind where the protagonist starts questioning reality, and you're left wondering if they're onto something or if they've just had one too many cups of coffee.

My search history is proof enough that I'm starting to lose it. The last couple of days I have found myself diving down a rabbit hole of internet searches. "Recent murders in the city." "Average size of a wolf." "Signs you're losing your marbles." Yeah, I've really hit rock bottom in terms of Google searches. I can't help but wonder if I've officially lost the plot. I mean, there's no way what I saw that night was real, right? It must have been a glitch in the matrix, or a particularly vivid dream induced by too much wine and late nights.

I shake my head, trying to dispel the doubts clouding my thoughts. It's impossible, I tell myself. But try as I might to brush it off, there's a persistent voice in the back of my mind whispering, "What if?" And let me tell you, that voice is about as welcome as a cold shower on a winter morning.

So, here I am, grappling with the age-old question of whether I'm losing my mind or if the world has suddenly taken a turn for the weird. And as I dive deeper into the depth of denial, I can't help but wonder how long it'll be before reality comes crashing down around me like a house of cards.

"Hey! Don't stand there and daydream" snarls my boss, his voice slicing through the air like a whip.

I blink, tearing my gaze away from the dishwasher to face him. He is a middle-aged man who is shorter than average and with more beard than hair on his head. And today, for some inexplicable reason, every inch of that beard is like a thorn in my side. Come to think of it, most things have annoyed me more than usual today. I plaster on a fake smile, trying to swallow down the frustration bubbling up inside me like a volcano ready to erupt.

"Sorry" I mutter, but the words taste bitter on my tongue.

He sighs, exasperated. "Time is money, you know. We can't afford to waste it."

I feel a surge of irritation rising within me, a fire burning hot and fierce in the pit of my stomach. "Time is so much more than just money," I snap before I can stop myself. "It's moments, memories, the things that make life worth living."

My boss eyes me warily, clearly taken aback by my outburst. My anger shocks even myself, this outburst is far from my character. Normally, I'm always friendly and a bit quiet, but something inside me rubs and gnaws. A feeling that makes me a little frustrated and restless. But I don't care. All I can think about is how much I miss my mom, how much I would give for just one more conversation, one more hug, one more chance to tell her how much she means to me. So yeah, time is so much more valuable than money.

"How about you take ten minutes and then continue with your tasks?" he suggests a little more cautiously.

With a resigned sigh, I untie the apron behind my back and silently leave the room. I push open the back door of the café, stepping out into the narrow alleyway. The cool air brushes against my skin, offering a momentary relief from the stifling heat of the small kitchen and the suffocating weight of my own emotions.

In the shadows of the alley, I lean against the rough brick wall and try to relax. With my eyes closed, I take a deep breath through my nose and exhale through my mouth. Just as recommended to be done in the videos I watched to help with stress. But no matter how hard I try to shake off the gnawing sense of irritation and frustration that clings to me like a stubborn shadow, it lingers, a constant reminder of the turmoil raging within.

With a sigh, I reach into my bag and pull out my new phone. I find Gwen's name among my contacts, my thumb hovering uncertainly over the call button. I don't want to burden her with my feelings and thoughts, I don't want to call and disturb. But I really feel like talking to someone and Gwen is the closest thing to family I have. She is my safe point and has always been there for me. I click the call button and wait impatiently for her to answer. And as I stand there, waiting for her to pick up, I can't help but wonder: when did life become so complicated? But before I can dwell on my doubts any longer, Gwen's familiar voice echoes through the receiver.