To himself everyone is immortal; he may know that he is going to die, but he can never know that he is dead. - Samuel Butler

I almost trip over my feet, trying to make sure my limp isn't noticeable. Stepping back into the main room, I see Anna seated at the table, as wide awake as I am. Fuck, there's no getting out of this one, is there? I lean against the wall instead of walking toward her, making sure that my right foot doesn't touch the ground. Unimpressed, she waves me over, silently laughing at my attempts at avoiding this talk.

That wasn't true, however. I wasn't avoiding the talk-well okay, maybe I was just a little-but instead trying to avoid showing off my ankle injury. Maybe if I walk really fast, she won't notice the limp.

Trying to move as fast as I can, while putting just enough pressure on my foot to not aggravate the injury further, I walk unevenly, hobbling even, to the table. Pulling a chair and taking a seat, I can see the look on concern on her face that proves that I had failed in my attempt at concealing it. Ashamedly, I hang my head, hoping to avoid eye contact.

"What's wrong?"

I hate this question. For a simple, three word question, it always brought out the longest, most complicated answers. Always, I never went much into depth when asked, preferring to keep it simply at the superficial level. Always at the superficial level.

"I think I might've twisted my ankle today walking to work-"

"Cut the shit, Jess."

Surprised, at both the words that she spoke and the tad of irateness that marked those words like the tip of finely sharpened dagger, pressing into my chest. A lump gathers in my throat, as I try to stammer a response.

"W-what?"

Shaking her head in frustration, she looks away from me. I sigh in relief, not having to see her eyes accusingly glaring at me, even if it is only for a few moments. I drum my fingers along the edge of the table, waiting for her to come up with this wild accusation...

"I know you're unemployed. I called the Center today and they said you quit back in June. Coincidentally enough, the time all of these weird happenings started. You going to Quebec on business? Your constant trips all over the country and world, all under the guise of getting promoted, and yet you aren't even employed!"

She paused for a moment, tears welling up behind her eyes that tried their hardest to portray even the fainest flicker, but look more and more washed out as she tries to calm herself.

"Jessie, I need to know now; are you having an affair?"

My jaw drops at the thought. She knew about all of this, and she honestly believes that-no-she has to be kidding, right? She honestly can't; I start, but looking her in her face, I can tell it's true. My God, she actually does. My hands curl up into fists, and I begin to tremble. Part of me is angered, outraged at the mere possibility that she would think so low of me as to insinuate that I would ever cheat on her. The other part, petrified of what I'm going to do, trying desperately to calm me down.

A literal war inside my head erupts as Anna just watches me, awaiting a response that affirms her that I'm not, my more rational side ultimately convinces me.

"No!"

I say that emphatically, leaning back in my chair to calm myself. She smiles, a fake, plastic smile thrown on to mask her true feelings behind a facade. Likely the same one she feels me to be hiding behind.

"Then, why? Why all the secrets, the late night walks for no reason, the re-"

Instinctively, I press my finger to her lips, silencing her momentarily before she grabs my hand and slams it weakly against the the table.

Regress-"

Poof. There goes my mind.

"-ions?"

The way she says that last syllable, lingers on my mind after she says it. Confusion, not in the sense of wanting my answer, but as to why she asked the question. She knows that I have no memory of my regressions, only the struggle I go through to make sure that I don't have them. Even that she doesn't understand completely.

"I'm not having an affair, Anna. The truth is lot simpler, and more embarrassing than that."

All this could've been avoided, had I been honest to start with. Shut the fuck up, rational me, it was a good idea at the time. Her ears perk up, and she smiles at me once again, only this one sincere. She even goes as far as to chuckle, wondering what could possibly be more embarrassing than getting caught in a web of lies that leads to infidelity.

"So, what is it? What's the big secret that you're hiding from me?"

I swallow my spit, to moisten my surprisingly dry throat.

"I'm a professional wrestle-UH."

Trying to swallow more spit, feeling and hearing the raspy tone, I choke out the last syllable barely. My face turns red, and I feel the temperature behind my cheeks increase.

A professional, what?"

She laughs, either not understanding what I had said, or hearing it perfectly, and assuming that I'm joking around.

"A professional wrestler, Anna."

Hysterically, she bursts out laughing at the comment. I bet in her mind, nothing could be further from the truth. Calmly, I sit there across from her, laughing at my career as if it was all a big joke. Looking at me once again, something about my facial expression must've finally gotten it across that I'm not joking.

"You, can't possibly be serious, can you?"

A vibration on my thigh breaks my attention for a brief moment. Reaching into my pocket (and noticing at this point, that I had been sleeping in the clothes that I wore out today) and pulling out my phone, I'm greeted the incoming call of some phone number that I don't recognize. At her urging, likely so she can come to grips with that strange bit of news, I answer the phone. The sound of a shocked, frantic man fills my ears.

"Are you Jessica Diaz?"

Ugh, can I say no to this question?

"Yes, how may I help you?"

"It's about your father, he's been in a serious car crash. He's being transported to the Virginia Mason Medical Center."

Wait, what?

He continues speaking, ranting about his condition in terms that don't even make any god damn sense to me at this point. I feel the air around me getting thinner in thinner, each breath I gulp in giving me less and less oxygen. Hanging up the phone, I slide it back into my pocket before rushing (as fast as I can on one good foot, that is) outside, trying to find a cab lurking the streets at whatever time in the morning it is.

It feels like the whole world has just stopped turning.